


Like Pulling Teeth

by Laerkstrein



Series: ScAvengers Of The Damned [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Adventure, Angst, Asgard, Attempted Murder, Casket of Ancient Winters, F/M, Family, Friendship, Gen, I Can't Believe I Wrote This, I'm Bad At Tagging, I'm an insane genius, Jotunheim, Midgard, Post-Avengers, Post-Avengers Asgard, Post-Avengers Jotunheim, Post-Avengers Midgard, Rivalry, Sibling Rivalry, Suspense, War, attempted genocide, i really love this
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-27
Updated: 2013-05-27
Packaged: 2017-12-13 04:21:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 34
Words: 73,855
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/819917
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laerkstrein/pseuds/Laerkstrein
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In the months following the Chitauri invasion, Natasha Romanoff is the first to be struck by an outlandish vision of a phantom on the streets of New York. A phantom that, as the Earth's heroes soon realize, poses a far greater threat now than he did the first time around.</p><p>Set six months post-<i>Avengers</i>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Shadow Of A Man

**Author's Note:**

> Originally posted [here](http://niger-ut-niveus.livejournal.com/112281.html) on my LJ comm on 11.20.12, and completed on 12.26.12.

It couldn't be helped, the smile that appeared as the man beside her yelped, hot coffee spilling onto his lap as the vehicle lurched to a sudden stop. He swore, and she brushed the grin under the rug for a moment, leaning out of the car to howl her own profanities at the bastard in front of her at the light. The fool hadn't stopped soon enough for the damned thing, the front end of his SUV sticking out into the intersection, drawing all kinds of vulgar attention.   
  
Natasha had thought he'd keep on going, what with the light having been yellow before. But, no, he'd been an idiot, speeding up to the crosswalk before slamming on the breaks, scaring the living hell right out of her. And Natasha had lived through hell a time or two before.   
  
"Bastard," she murmured, drawing the sunglasses back over her eyes. She slammed a hand against the steering wheel, honking at him again for good measure. "I swear, people don't know how to drive anymore..."  
  
Clint, she noticed, said nothing. Instead, he busied himself with glowering at her, as if the coffee spill had been entirely her fault.  
  
"I just washed these!" he snapped, motioning to the stain on his slate gray pants. "And what the hell do you mean  _they_  don't know how to drive?!  _You_  don't know to drive!"  
  
Her head turned slowly, the glasses slipping down the bridge of her nose enough for Natasha to glare back at him. " _Excuse me_?" she said slowly. "Did you just say that  _you_  did your own laundry?" A laugh. "I don't think so."  
  
For as long as she could remember, or the last six months, at least, they had been rooming together, sharing meal and space and various other things that had come with the woman finally acknowledging her feelings of love.   
  
"Fine!" he said, throwing up his hands. "Maybe I don't do the laundry! But I know damn well that I can drive a hell of a lot better than you!"  
  
A painted lip curled in disgust as she stepped out of the still-running car, walking around to the passenger's side.   
  
"All right," she huffed, yanking open the door of the convertible. Natasha waved her hands, ushering a surprised Clint right into the driver's seat. "Move!" She took his place, snapping the seat belt shut. "Let's see how well you do."  
  
The way Clint looked at her, he expected an explanation. But she, being a first-class assassin, and a woman at that, had no intention of offering one after the way he'd so ridiculously blamed her for a mistake that had been influenced by someone else's stupidity.   
  
The belt on his side clicked, his eyes still on her, though she did not deign to look.  
  
Clint jumped, and rather visibly, when the woman in the car behind them leaned on her horn with a volatile expression, the fool in the SUV swiftly taking off through the now green-lit intersection with a speed that must have been, at least, ten over the limit.   
  
Pressing the sunglasses back up against her nose, the red-haired woman stifled the start of a snorting laugh that her fool partner had coming. Through his own dark lenses, he glanced at her with rapt attention, the convertible gently sliding out and into the steady stream of the northbound street's one-way traffic.   
  
They remained silent for quite a time, the obnoxious "hit songs" on the radio doing most of the talking. One, the woman noted, was entirely about a girl who, over time, had grown increasingly tired of her boyfriend and his idiocy, thus refusing to have anything further to do with him. With a quick glance at Clint from the corner of her eye, she empathized with the lyrics, a bit tempted, if only in this moment alone, to demand that he pull the car over, let her out to catch a cab, and have all of his things out of her home before dusk.   
  
But, of course, disapproval and irritation were things that came very naturally with any relationship.   
  
She snickered at the thought, recalling the first time their little hero group had collected aboard Fury's helicarrier. Had she not been caught up in the middle of the argument at the time, it would have been quite a riot. Particularly when it came to Tony Stark and his wit, insisting to the Captain that he wasn't "afraid to hit an old man."  
  
As Clint silently changed the radio station, the vehicle veered into the right turning lane, waiting patiently for the oncoming traffic to end. Natasha leaned out of the car a bit, her eyes falling upon a covered cafe on the corner.   
  
Were she presently talking to Clint, she would have suggested that they stop and have lunch and a bit of coffee, or perhaps tea. Rather, she entertained herself by watching the people that moved about under the awnings, sipping at their drinks and laughing in pairs or small groups.   
  
As Clint swore again at the rush of traffic, which was not at all uncommon for a city so large, Natasha's gaze settled upon a man in familiar attire. He sat alone, accompanied by a singular cup of tea, clad in the usual white shirt, tie, and dark suit that the SHIELD agents always appeared in. He sipped leisurely at the drink, a smile coming to rest upon his thin lips as he turned to face her, mouthing something that, as they began to move, she couldn't quite make out.  
  
Her breath hitched as an old memory made clear his face in her mind. Natasha leaned out of the car as they took the corner, her head turning on her neck to stare after him, watching in awe as he slowly disappeared from sight.   
  
"What's wrong?" Clint murmured, pulling over. He looked back, as if to search for that which she had been staring at. "Hey, Nat."  
  
Natasha turned right around in her seat, the image of the man's smirking face the only thing that danced before her eyes.   
  
"Go back."  
  
It took but a moment for the vehicle to go back around the block and pull up in front of the cafe. As they stopped, Natasha hopped out and onto the sidewalk, removing the glasses and scanning the area for the man she'd swear to have seen.   
  
Instead, there was only a lone cup of tea sitting at that empty table, still fresh and piping hot.  
  
"Well?"  
  
"Forget it." She turned on her heel and threw herself back into the seat, obviously disappointed. The belt buckle clicked again, and she leaned over the stick shift to turn the key.   
  
The convertible roared right over the sound of Clint's voice as it maneuvered out into the street again, Natasha's head resting on the back of the seat as they went.   
  
She creased her brow and closed her eyes, replaying the scene again and again. It couldn't have been real, but she had seen him; had seen that singular, steaming cup sitting at that exact spot.   
  
But she had seen him, they all had, taken back to Asgard by Thor and the Tesseract not six months prior. Yet, he had been there, so openly mocking her while within the city that he had been so willing to destroy.   
  
Surely, no one would believe her. But she knew what she had seen: The shadow of a man the world thought only existed within legend.


	2. Call To Action

"Aren't you going to read it?"  
  
Thor raised his eyes to the smiling woman who stood in the doorway. Her apron was splattered with lines of chocolate, powder on her face and in her hair. She had spent much of the morning trying to bake a cake, though the look on her face, despite her grin, suggested that it was not going well at all.   
  
Leaving the phone alone on the chair, he approached her, trying to step into the kitchen even as she barred his path.  
  
"How is your cake, Jane?" he inquired, now curious as to what that strange smell was. It was a strong scent, reminding him very much of the way the torches of his father's palace would burn eternal, sparks of magic bursting in their flames. "Has it shaped itself according to your desires?"  
  
Jane sighed and folded her arms, leaning against the wall with a scowl on her face. "If by, 'according to my desires,' you mean that it  _blew up_  and stuck to the ceiling, then yes." She walked back down the small hallway, stopped at the entrance to the kitchen, and motioned inside. "This is why I eat out. Or from a can."  
  
Upon peering through the doorway, Thor's eyes widened, the walls flecked with white cake batter, frosting, and many colored spots, some of which reminded him very much of blood.   
  
He approached one of the spots, which had settled itself by the cabinets on the far wall, and lifted a hand to run his finger through it. Thor brought the smear of color to his nose, curious as to why it had no scent. Though he had chosen to remain here in Midgard with Jane, there were still many things used by the mortals which he had not yet come into contact with.   
  
These bizarre spots of color happened to be one of those things.  
  
"What is this?" he said, looking to Jane with concern. "Is it blood? Have you set about slaying small animals within our kitchen?"  
  
Jane pressed a hand to her mouth, her cheeks moving up her face as they did when she smiled. It seemed she was laughing at him.  
  
"No," she giggled, then promptly setting herself straight. "No." Jane reached into a cabinet and withdrew a small, glass bottle. "It's food coloring."  
  
Thor stared at her. " _Food coloring_?"  
  
"It's safe to eat, and we use it to change the colors of food." She paused, as if waiting for him to reply. "We could... change the color of eggs and ham."   
  
Thor nodded. He rather enjoyed when Jane cooked up those scrambled eggs and ham of hers, but was unsure as to why one would choose to change their colors.  
  
"Like in the book," she went on, confusing him further. "You know... The one by Dr. Seuss?"  
  
The god blinked, not at all knowing what it was Jane spoke of. Or why a mortal doctor would have such a name. Then again, strange names were not uncommon in the realm.  
  
They stood staring at one another for a minute before her eyes widened and she rushed back into the other room, returning with the cellular phone he had left sitting on the chair. Jane offered it to him, though not before wiping the cake batter off of it with a patterned towel that had sat on the counter top.  
  
"Didn't you get a message?" she asked, and he shrugged.  
  
Apparently, this action was an appropriate way to suggest that one did not know something.  
  
"It's from Natasha." Jane turned the phone around, presenting him with the letters on the screen.   
  
His newfound friends had all met Jane upon his request that they help him to reach the part of Midgard that he had heard called "New Mexico." Though, and he wrinkled his nose at the thought, Stark had seemed rather taken with Jane and her beauty upon their meeting. He suspected that the man's own mate, the woman who called herself after the seasoning of pepper, would not have approved in the slightest.  
  
"Aren't you going to read it?"  
  
The god remained silent, still having a very vague idea as to what the full purpose of this cellular phone was. How it could send written communications without the presence of messengers or birds? He walked quietly back into the other room as Jane followed, not noticing that he paced before the large window as she began to read. Thor hadn't heard her words, too wrapped up in his own mind. The loss of much sleep all these long months, which had been incredibly draining even for a demi-god, had been brought about by a series of truly unfortunate events, and, still, he could not bring himself to usher the memories away.  
  
The Tesseract, his dear brother, their father and his anger at the hearing, the judgment.   
  
More than all that, he recalled his dear mother's worried face when word had reached her, reached all of them, of his brother's almost immediate disappearance. The Jotunns again, as the story had been told, had managed to reach Asgard without alerting the gatekeeper, perhaps whisking Loki away to the sunless realm of Jotunheim. Although, given what trouble Loki had managed to conjure during the time of Thor's banishment, the god greatly suspected that the Giants had not gone unaided.  
  
Even so, he despised all this; not knowing who or what his brother was, or even where he had gone.   
  
"Thor, did you hear that?" Jane said, reflection appearing in the window.   
  
He turned to her with sad eyes, taking her hands in his. "I am sorry, Jane," he said. "I was..." The two of them jumped as the phone went off, the high-pitched music burning into Thor's ears. "What is that sound?!"  
  
Jane turned from him, her finger pressed against the device's smooth screen before holding it to her ear.  
  
"Hello?" She was silent then, nodding several times before offering the phone to him. "It's for you."  
  
Thor accepted, staring at the thing for a moment before looking back to Jane. She mimed placing the phone to her ear, and he followed suit.   
  
"Thor," Natasha's voice said through the device. She sounded rather distressed and tired. Thor had no idea what to say. "Look, I know you and Jane are probably very busy," Thor looked to his mortal partner, noting that she didn't look the slightest bit occupied, "but can you get out to New York ASAP?"  
  
A hand flowed through his blond hair, face contorted in confusion. "'ASAP?'" he repeated, quirking a brow. "I do apologize, but I do not fully understand these mortal speech patterns as of yet."  
  
Gingerly, Jane took the phone from him, the tip of her finger pressing against the screen again as she laid it down upon the table. "It means 'as soon as possible,'" she explained, speaking a bit louder than she should have.   
  
"Right. I forgot all about that. Sorry." Natasha's voice echoed through the room, seeming to emanate from the cellular phone, and Thor watched it in awe.   
  
Mortal technology was truly a fascinating subject. One that even his brother might have taken an interest in studying.  
  
Thor grimaced at the thought, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. It seemed that, no matter how hard he tried, he would never be able to get Loki out of his mind completely.   
  
There was a sigh from the phone before Natasha went on: "Look, I know this is probably the last thing you need to hear right now," she said, and Thor could hear the sound of loud cars and chattering people in the background. "But the team needs to meet up immediately."  
  
Jan crossed her arms, the chocolate having already dried upon her apron. "I don't mean to be rude," she huffed, "but New York isn't exactly down the street. And what's this about? I think that, if you're going to ask us to fly out there, you ought to at least tell us why."  
  
That Jane wished to accompany him to New York made the demi-god smile. At least until he realized that, somehow, mortals had gained the ability to fly.   
  
"I wish to know this as well," Thor chimed in.  
  
There was another sound of distress from the other end, followed by Natasha's muffled shouting at someone who, Thor thought, sounded very much like Barton.   
  
The assassin did not apologize for the quarreling when she returned to the call: "People have been seeing things, Thor," she said rather flatly. "Myself included. Strange things."  
  
"What manner of things?"  
  
"Oh, I don't know," she said, utilizing a tone of voice that, Jane told him, was called sarcasm. "Just an unidentified SHIELD agent, and... what was the other one...? Oh, right!  _Giant blue people._  Any of that sound familiar, 'cause it sounds a hell of a lot like they're from your neck of the woods."  
  
At the description of the strangers, Thor's eyes widened, recalling the events of his botched coronation involving the Frost Giants. Though how they had managed to make it to the mortal realm, and why, was very much beyond him.  
  
Although, he couldn't help the sneaking suspicion that lingered in his chest.   
  
"Is it..." his voice quickly became caught up in his throat. "My brother...?"  
  
He heard Natasha shout again, static popping through the phone at deafening volumes before all went silent.   
  
He and Jane exchanged surprised looks.  
  
"Hello?" Jane leaned closer to the phone. "Natasha? Is everything all right?"  
  
She jumped back as a voice howled back at them, "What in the  _hell_  would make you think that everything is all right?!"  
  
Thor reached out and tapped the phone gingerly. "Director Fury," he said, "is that you?"  
  
One could almost hear see the frown on the man's face as he spoke. "Thor," he still sounded rather irritated. "Just get out here. _Now._ "  
  
Jane opened her mouth to speak, but the screen lit up, the phone icon disappearing and the colored background restoring itself.   
  
She looked to Thor, and shrugged. "Was that a 'yes?'"  
  
The god sighed, taking Jane's hand as he turned to stare back out the window.   
  
He feared that the director's involvement was definitely an affirmative answer to his question.


	3. Blue Sky With Blue Devils

The winters of New York were always bitter, though they bore no challenge to the biting freeze of Jotunheim. No matter the weather, the mortals bustled busily through the streets, often so quickly that, every now and again, they would loose their footing on the ice and end up flat on their backsides, foul Midgardian curses flying from their lips. Even had he wished otherwise, the act would have amused him all the same. Humans were such petty creatures, after all. So easily disturbed.  
  
For a time he had simply watched them through his spells, taking in everything and anything that would make him appear as one of them. And, given the destruction he had wrought in the months prior, it had seemed to be the best course of action. It was, after all, less of a danger to bide his time in appropriating proper camouflage than to risk someone recognizing him as the "alien bastard who had nearly toppled Manhattan."  
  
Their words, not his.  
  
He sat in silence, having found nothing of particular interest aboard the train. It was filthy, filled with strange smells and all manner of people, but he had no intention of going to the trouble of procuring a license with which to operate a vehicle. It would just be a waste of time.   
  
As the train came to a stop, passengers hurried about, pulling on gloves and scarves and hats before venturing back out into the chilly subway tunnel. As one of them pushed past, a newspaper fell to the floor, only to be scuffed and trampled on by wet shoes. When the last of them had disappeared through the door, it hissed, sealing itself shut before the train took off again like a bullet.   
  
The god stared heavily at the front page, the print still readable through mud and slush. Yet another headliner about the mighty Avengers, their faces plastered across the paper. He scowled, picking it up by a corner, giving it a good shake to drain the water before leaning forward, holding it in his hands.   
  
A shadow appeared over the top half of the page, and he looked up, staring into the wide eyes of a little boy no older than four. The child stared right back before his small face broke out into a wide grin, a small finger slapping the newspaper in Loki's hands.   
  
"Avengers!" the boy exclaimed, glee in his gaze. Loki said nothing, and the child began to point to the heroes, naming them one by one. When his finger moved to the object of the god's frustration, he beamed, "Thor!"  
  
The child looked away then, his mother having come to fetch him, apologizing for the disturbance. He remained silent, his focus now set on the toddler as he pulled away from his mother's grasp, running up and down the train car with a smile.   
  
Children were so innocent, so pure. Within those growing minds of theirs, they could become whatever they desired. Or whatever someone else desired. They could be doctors, or soldiers, going out into the world to fight and protect. They could even grow up to destroy.  
  
They were so perfect.  
  
As his mother fell back into her seat in defeat, the boy inched closer to him, saying nothing, just standing at his side in silent observation. As the child sat down on the floor, he pulled a colored marker out of his coat pocket, yanked the cap off with his teeth, and began coloring his hand with wild scribbles.   
  
"Mommy, I'm a monster!"   
  
This made Loki smile, his hand sliding out from beneath the newspaper and drawing the child's attention. The boy's eyes widened with excitement, the blue color of the Jotunns snaking across the god's flesh.   
  
Instantly, the boy was on his feet, running back to his mother, yammering about the magic that his newfound friend could do. The mother hushed him, putting a blue knit cap onto his head as she took his hand, the train gradually slowing down. As the two of them headed towards the door, the boy looked out the window and onto the platform, waving his hands frantically at a man who waved back. A man whom, Loki assumed, was the child's father.   
  
When the doors opened, the boy ran, speeding into his father's arms before the other passengers could leave the train. But the mother lingered in the car, waiting for the crowd to thin before approaching him, a smile on her face.   
  
"I'm sorry if he bothered you at all," she said. "But thank you for playing with him."  
  
He leaned back in his seat as the woman stepped onto the platform. That little trick of his never grew old. There was always pleasure for him in unveiling his blue skin, watching people as they stared in awe, chattering away to themselves about the possibility that they were dreaming, really back at home in bed still sleeping off a hangover.   
  
Even so, having fun wasn't quite the same as being comfortable.  
  
Patience was his companion until he finally got off the train a half hour later. The air was certainly frigid within the tunnel, but he wasn't bothered by it in the slightest. Upon reaching the top of the tunnel's stairs, there was a tall building standing across the street, the one-way windows acting as mirrors to the dozens of people who streamed past, several of them stopping to check their hair or apply makeup.  
  
They were all ignored as he passed by, pushing through the doors and stepping into a wide lobby, two men in suits standing on either side of the elevator at the end of the hall. He approached the woman at the desk, giving her a charming smile before relaying his request.  
  
"I know I'm a bit early, but I've come to see the Agent Gordon," he said, handing her an envelope.  
  
She took it and removed the letter inside, looking quickly from it to her computer monitor before handing it back to him. Everything seemed to check out.  
  
"I'll page him for you."  
  
He turned away as she picked up the phone to dial, focusing his attention on the glass doors. The face that looked back was only what the mortals would see; what he wanted them to see. He was just like the rest of them.   
  
The elevator chimed, a man with graying hair stepping out with a manila envelope tucked under his arm. He smiled, hand outstretched as approached.   
  
"Pleasure to finally meet you," he grinned, shaking the god's hand.  
  
The trickster was positively giddy. "Likewise."  
  
The envelope exchanged hands, and the agent stepped back, that smile still on his face. "I know we already discussed it over the phone," he said, "but are you sure we can't interest you in taking the position? I've already talked it over with the Director, and he's impressed. It's yours if you want it."  
  
Silvertongue laughed. "Your trouble is appreciated, but no, thank you. I... I have other matters to attend to. Family matters."  
  
The agent nodded. "I understand." He glanced at his watch. "I know this has been short, but there are some matters I must attend to. If you'll excuse me."  
  
The trickster god could only smile to himself as he pushed back through the doors, the cool air blowing through his hair. His gaze turned to the graying sky, the envelope still clutched in his hand as snow began to drift down.  
  
What a pleasant sky it was.  
  


**#-#-#-#**

  
  
They sat around the table in silence, waiting for the Director, all the chatter having been hushed by one common factor: Everyone was in a shitty mood.  
  
Clint and Natasha sat on opposite sides of the table, the woman fervently ignoring his gaze as, it seemed, he considered several attempts at an apology. Bruce appeared tired, as though he hadn't slept in a week; the demi-god, and his lovely girlfriend, sat with his head on her shoulder, looking more like a wet puppy than a brutal fighter. And all Steve could manage was a nasty glare right out the window.   
  
And Tony, well, he just didn't want to be here.  
  
As the door opened and Fury stepped inside, he raised a hand and lowered his shades, a disappointed look on his face. "Can we get some coffee or something, please? Because I didn't sleep the whole way over here, and four in the morning has got to be the worst goddamn time to put someone on a flight."  
  
Pepper gave him a firm shove, widening her eyes in a silent effort to keep him quiet before he buried himself. But Tony didn't care.   
  
The others, save Thor and Bruce, turned to look at him. Steve, however, looked far more irritated by the question than anyone else. Second, that is, to Fury.   
  
Tony shrugged, leaning back in the chair. "I take it you didn't get much sleep either, right, Sunshine?" he said to the Captain.   
  
Fury slammed a stack of files on the table, stopping the super soldier before he could return a biting retort. "Enough with the games, Stark," he growled, passing the folders around. "Now, everyone needs to keep their mouths shut, unless it applies to the matter at hand."  
  
The billionaire groaned, throwing the glasses back over his eyes as a file slid across the table to him and Pepper, the woman nudging him in the ribs again. He sat up straight for a moment, before hunching over in his seat, chin resting in his hands as he likened himself to one of this generation's students. Tony wondered if he was just as bored as those poor kids trapped in school on such a cold, snowy day.  
  
"I agree with Stark," Steve quipped, drawing the attention of the others. "Sort of." He flipped through the folder before looking around the room. "Why drag us all out here on such short notice?"  
  
Fury smiled, or at least produced the closest thing to a smile that he could, and paced around the table, hands clasped behind his back.  
  
"Yeah, that's a little creepy," Tony said, holding a thumb and forefinger apart as a means of measurement. "Just... Just a little..."  
  
The Director laid a hand on the man's shoulder as he passed behind his chair. Tony grimaced.  
  
"As you can see," he said, all eyes on him, "we've received reports of questionable events in the greater Manhattan area. If you'll turn to page four, you'll see that the most troublesome of these events are as follows..."  
  
Tony sighed, slapping the folder on the table. "We actually have to read all of this? I mean, why the hell didn't you just highlight all the important parts?"  
  
Fury promptly hit him on the head with his own file. "It's all important, Stark!" he shouted. "As I was saying, the most troublesome events are as follows: Giant blue people, phantoms, and the partial collapse of a subway tunnel."  
  
Thor seemed to sit straight up at the mention of blue giants.  
  
"Okay, I'm not seeing anything in this file about a tunnel collapse," Jane said, lifting her gaze.   
  
"That's because it happened only this morning," came the retort. "Moving on! Now, any ideas?" He looked straight at Tony then, pointing at him. "And I don't wanna hear any of your smartass remarks, Stark. Or, so help me, I will have your ass thrown out one of these damned windows!"  
  
Tony leaned a bit closer to Pepper, silently musing to himself that, even if Fury wanted to, he couldn't throw him out of a window that didn't open. Then again, he was sitting in a room full of people with unnatural abilities. Surely, one of them could get a damn window to open. Or break.  
  
"How tall are these giants?" the demi-god asked.  
  
"I'd think taller than normal people," Bruce replied. "Hence the fact that they were reported as 'giants.'"  
  
The god nodded, looking increasingly worried.  
  
Tony stood up, hands flat on the table. "Okay," he looked at Thor, "why don't you tell us what it is you're so damned worried about so we don't have to play twenty goddamn questions, huh?"  
  
"I fear... the Jotunns may have entered Midgard."  
  
"Uh, I'm sorry," Tony walked around to the god's seat, "but what in the living hell are Jotunns? Sounds like some new kind of java," and glanced at Fury, "which I'd  _really appreciate sometime before I crash_!"  
  
Fury ignored him and removed another folder from the stack, sliding it across the table to Thor. "They've been described as being anywhere from seven to eight feet tall, red eyes, covered in scales or even tattoos. We've had almost three hundred sightings in the last two days."  
  
The god looked silently at the images before turning them upside-down. He didn't look pleased.  
  
"They are Jotunns, the Frost Giants of Jotunheim, one of the Nine Realms."  
  
Startled, Tony swallowed a mouthful of coffee as Pepper handed him a mug, nearly choking himself before he could thank her. "Uh, excuse me, but did he just say  _Frost Giants_? As in 'giant-ass men made of ice?'"  
  
"Stark, sit your ass down!"  
  
Pepper grabbed him by the sleeve, and he sat. "Tony!"  
  
He mimed zipping his lip, opening his mouth only when Fury looked away to take another drink and whisper, "Thank you, for the coffee" to Pepper.  
  
Now that he had his java, Tony decided he'd satisfy himself with listening. For now.  
  
"So, what you're telling me is," Fury spared him a quick glance, "that these Frost Giants are from another planet."  
  
"Yes." Thor nodded.   
  
"Great.  _Now_  we're getting somewhere." Tony knew he was the target of that remark. "Any reason why, you think, they'd be coming here?"  
  
The demi-god cast his gaze downward, Jane's hand resting on his shoulder. "I believe that my brother may be involved..."  
  
Fury scowled. The fireworks were coming. " _Your brother_?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
"And why," the Director's voice was strained, "in the living  _hell_  would  _your brother_  be playing a part in all this?"  
  
Casting his eyes about the room, Tony could see that they all watched Thor, all eager to hear the answer to that question. If not a bit worried.   
  
The God of Thunder breathed in deeply, looked to Jane, and back to Fury. "Loki escaped Asgard, some months ago... with the Casket of Ancient Winters."  
  
Tony promptly chugged the rest of his coffee, pressed his forehead to Pepper's shoulder, and covered his ears as Fury began screaming. As soon as this was over, he was going to end up in his hotel suite with a goddamn headache.


	4. Sealed With A Twist

Following Fury's outburst, he had kept them there for well over three hours, all of them frighteningly relieved when they were dismissed with a loud, "Don't screw this up!" Natasha suspected that, had Tony just kept his damned mouth shut, they would have walked out of the meeting much sooner, and without that incessant ringing in their ears. But, of course, the man couldn't have left well enough alone and, as the Director had gone off on Thor for not relaying his information sooner, Tony had pipped up with a quick, "Looks like somebody needs a Midol."  
  
She stepped out into the parking garage with Clint, still not too pleased with his past behavior. They hadn't spoken for the entirety of the night, and, on his behalf, Natasha had decided that, until he could manage himself like an adult and apologize, he could sleep out in the living room on the sofa. While he had seemed appalled when she had locked the bedroom door, Clint had not complained.   
  
Boots clacking against he concrete floor, she led the way to the convertible, peering outside and immediately regretting the fact that they hadn't put the top up. Of course, with December closing in on them, it would start snowing.   
  
A sigh escaped her painted lips as she pulled the remote from her pocket, the vehicle's headlights blinking as she slipped between two rows of cars. Upon seating herself behind the wheel, she shoved the key into the ignition and flipped on the heater, hoping that it would, at least, keep them warm until they could get home and put on the top.   
  
Clint shuffled into the car beside her, and stared decidedly at the control panel. She rolled her eyes, the seat belt clicking as she backed out of the space, staring down the row of cars as Tony sped off down the exit ramp with a whoop, Pepper on his arm demanding that he slow the car down right this damn second.   
  
With a foot on the brake, Natasha reached down to shift the gears, and caught Clint's hand instead.   
  
"You want me to drive?" he offered.   
  
She shook her head, peering into the rear view mirror to see Thor hurrying across the garage to Jane's rental, holding her tightly in his arms. "No."  
  
They sat there for a moment in awkward silence before Clint spoke up again. "Nat, I'm sorry. It wasn't your fault with the coffee and the..."   
  
Natasha sighed, dropping her head onto the back of the seat. "All right," she said.   
  
"So, you'll...?"  
  
"I'll forgive you if, when we get home, you put the damned top on this car." Her eyes moved to the white snow falling from the sky outside. "Why the hell did we even bring this thing? I don't enjoy freezing."  
  
Clint said nothing; just reached over her, pushed a button, and tried his best not to smile as the top popped out from behind the back seat and lifted itself over the windshield.   
  
"How did you do that?"  
  
He stared at her. "The top doesn't come off," he said. "It folds up into the back."  
  
Natasha was speechless.   
  
"Want me to drive?"  
  
She nodded, and Clint hopped out of the car, ran around to her side, opened the door, and helped her back around and into the passenger's seat. When she was seated, he sat back down, revved the engine, and, much like Tony, sped down the exit ramp and out into the stream of traffic.   
  
Natasha peered out the window, afraid to address anything which had been discussed at the meeting. Particularly the bit about the phantoms. She had spoken to Fury in secret before the rest of the Avengers had arrived, curious as to whether or not she was the only one seeing things. She hadn't elaborated who she'd seen, but he had told her that several people in the city were seeing strange people aside from the giants, in areas surrounding one of SHIELD's buildings.  
  
Ahead on the corner, she could see the little cafe again, and, certain that she had not been seeing things before, told Clint that she would very much like to get a cup of hot coffee before they arrived home.   
  
The vehicle pulled over and into a nearby parking lot, the two of them hopping out and running across the crosswalk before the light changed color.   
  
"I'm gonna run to the restroom," he told her, holding the door open. "Grab a table, and I'll be right back."  
  
Natasha nodded, and stared across the counter top at the menu.  
  
Reading along the list of hot drinks, she came across tea and the variations that were offered, pressing the replay button in her head and watching as he smiled at her from his seat yet again. He had been there, she had seen him, and it all made sense now, given what Thor had told them through the tension of the meeting.   
  
When the woman at the counter asked what she would like, Natasha placed her order, hoping that Clint wouldn't mind his coffee black, paid, and went to secure them a table in the corner by the window.   
  
The streets, despite being filled with people and yellow taxi cabs, seemed somewhat serene as the white powder fell gently from the sky. Winter always seemed to calm the most fearsome of places, giving them a sort of otherworldly appearance that stilled the omnipresent radar for danger within her mind.  
  
She heard the legs of a chair scrape against the floor and turned her head, opening her mouth to tell Clint that his coffee had been ordered black, as he hadn't said what he wanted before hurrying off.   
  
Instead, she stared right back at the man whom she had seen before, detesting the way he smiled at her sudden realization.  
  
Her hands curled around the edges of the table. "What the hell are you doing here?!"   
  
"Nice to see you too, Agent Romanoff."  
  
He sat there without a care in the world, presumably the same tea on the table in front of him as he smiled, as though they were only making casual conversation.  
  
Natasha wanted to kill him... No, to do what she did best and force all those slimy secrets right out of him, and drag his sorry hide to SHIELD. But she couldn't, not here with all these people present and watching. Her head turned towards the restroom, hoping that Clint would walk out at any minute, see the god, and get rid of him before instinct got the better of her. But, as she did, Natasha saw a man frozen in place, as if he had been walking through the restroom door.  
  
The rest of the cafe was very much the same. People stood still in awkward positions, as though they were sculptures set up on the ice of the lake. Even the world outside the window had come to screeching halt.   
  
She sat back in her chair. Of course he'd choose to play this way. Mischievous god powers, and all that.   
  
"What do you want?" the assassin snapped, folding her arms so as to avoid clocking him.  
  
The dark prince seemed to laugh at her over his tea, leaning forward. "I came to say hello, is all."  
  
"Oh, I see," she said, voice dripping with venom and sarcasm. "So, you think that, after all the hell you've put everyone through, you can come back with a skip in your step, and everything will be better." The god said nothing, the smile seeming to vanish the longer she glared at him. "Fat chance."  
  
"Actually," he dropped a manila envelope on the table, looking a bit dissatisfied. "I had plans to visit while you and your little friends were scattered across Midgard," Natasha pulled it across the table, pulling it open and staring wide-eyed at the pages inside, "but, when I heard that the  _Avengers_  were all in town, I decided that wasting my precious time on all of you wouldn't serve any real benefit."  
  
"So you chose me," she replied, clutching the papers tightly. "Why? And how did you get our dossiers?"  
  
"I like games, Agent Romanoff," Loki said. "And I decided that, as you were the first of the Avengers to run across me, you would be the most important piece on the board."  
  
The way he talked made it seem as though this were a game of chess. It made her sick, realizing that the most important piece in the game was the queen.   
  
"What about Thor?"  
  
He seemed to flinch at that, his lip curling in disgust. "What of him?"  
  
"Why wouldn't you choose your brother instead of me?"  
  
"He is not my brother."  
  
"That's not what he told us."  
  
"He is a fool."  
  
"Oh, and coming back here makes you brilliant, does it?"  
  
Loki grimaced, seeming to have grown tired of her back-and-forth. But, to Natasha's satisfaction, he'd allowed himself to be bothered by mention of Thor.  
  
"What is the Casket of Ancient Winters?" she demanded.   
  
He appeared surprised at this, his knit brow coming undone in a look of genuine surprise. "The what?"  
  
"Don't play coy. I...  _We_  all know you're here, and that you're up to something. Don't think you can get away with it."  
  
She cursed herself for that last bit, that knowing smirk of his returning as he replied, "I don't think, Agent Romanoff. I  _know_."  
  
"Yeah, can't wait to see how that works out for you."  
  
The chair scraped against the floor again, the trickster god taking a stand. "It would seem I've no more time to spend on you." Loki turned towards the door, looking back at her for but a moment. "You may inform your little Avengers of my presence, if you wish. Though I doubt that, even with their help, you'll uncover anything of real significance."  
  
As he stepped outside, Natasha bolted after him.  
  
"At least, not until it's grown too late."  
  
Sound from the street filled her ears then, the chime of the door going off as an elderly couple stepped inside, excusing themselves and winding their way around her. Natasha stood by the door in shock, peering out the windows in hopes that she might catch Loki hurrying off into the midst of some crowd.   
  
"Hey, Nat." Clint appeared behind her, two coffee cups in his hands. "What's wrong?"  
  
Natasha looked him over for a minute before taking one from him, shaking her head.   
  
"Nothing," she said quietly. "Let's go home."


	5. Never Mine

The subdued tones of the music in the elevator felt absolutely deafening. How the mortals could stand having the noise circling their heads within such a small space was beyond him.   
  
It didn't matter how many times he instructed himself to get over it, that his coming here didn't mean anything, nothing worked. Just the notion of coming, even as a means by which to further his plans, was sickening. And, as the elevator lurched up and down, he thought, for a moment, that he just might vomit.  
  
The seventeenth, perhaps eighteenth, floor was where the doors slid open. It was a bit hard to read the numbers, what with his head spinning from nausea and irritation. He sucked in a breath, the words from the dossier glaring back from within his mind, hissing,  _1796._  The door was placed down the hall and around the corner, a colored wreath, clearly for the mortal holiday season, framing the golden numbers.  
  
He hesitated to raise a hand, to even bother knocking on the door. If he were honest with himself, and Loki always was, he didn't want to be here; didn't want a damned thing to do with these people. Not any of them. But, without them, there was no fun to be had, for there was no glory, no satisfaction to be had, by simply stepping on ants.   
  
The door was struck twice, hands shoved back into his coat pockets in a futile attempt to appear as casual and unruffled as he could. But granted the audience he was now seeking, he didn't dare think that it would work.   
  
The handle shook and rattled, a grunt coming from the other side of the door as the apartment's occupant seemed to struggle with the lock. Upon hearing a click, Loki gave it a good push with his foot, allowing the door to swing open, the object of his deepest disgust looking up at him with a surprised grin.  
  
"Brother!" Thor cried, pulling him into a bone-crushing embrace. "I had thought that I would not see you again!"  
  
Loki stiffened, choking out a firm, "Off," before the God of Thunder dragged him through the door and slammed it. Fortunately, he caught hold of the handle of the closet door moments before he could smack his head against the floor.   
  
He was quickly ushered to the living room thrown into a seat, and asked if he was at all interested in a drink. Now, out of a desire to appear polite and lull his victim into a sense of false security, the God of Mischief would have normally agreed to such an offer. However, the idea of Thor attempting to work a coffee maker, or use a kettle to brew water for tea, didn't seem like such a good idea. He had barely been able to unlock his own front door, for crying out loud.  
  
"No, thank you," he breathed, and Thor sat down, that stupid smile still on his face.  
  
As he folded his arms across his chest, Loki curled his fingers, nails biting into the flesh of his palms. By far, this had been the most horrendous idea he'd ever concocted and gone through with.   
  
They watched each other for a time, the heavy darkness of the room hanging over them even as a television screen flickered on the far wall. Thor noticed when his gaze shifted to the light, glancing at it himself before inquiring as to whether or not it was a bother. Loki shook his head. One way or another, he didn't care about mortal methods of entertainment.  
  
Thor's eyes remained on the screen for a moment before he picked up the remote and muted the sound, informing Loki that the the program he had been watching, Desperate Housewives, was quite an addicting one.   
  
Loki could only sigh and roll his eyes at the comment.  
  
"What brings you here, Brother? To what do I owe this great pleasure?"  
  
The dark prince scowled at the question, deeply despising the very fact that, even after knowing the truth, Thor still insisted on believing that, because they had been raised together, they were brothers. Idyllic bastard.  
  
Nothing cast oil on the flame quite like that manner of foolishness. Except, perhaps, the very thought of the Allfather himself.  
  
"Has your memory lapsed in all these months?" he sneered, weaving his fingers together as he hunched over in the chair. "We are not, and never have been, brothers. Do not make me say it again."  
  
Thor snorted, indignant. "Say what you will, but by affection for you remains unchanged. I will not speak to you as an enemy."  
  
The trickster grit his teeth, moving to stand by the window that looked out and over the city. Were he not so furious, perhaps the sight would have been somewhat beautiful. Perhaps he would have taken a great deal of pleasure in watching the ants crawl across the landscape, oblivious to the fact that, in the very near future, the life that they had come to understand would become obsolete.   
  
He smiled, looking to stare at Thor's distant reflection in the glass. That last bit had been almost poetic, almost a comparison to Midgard's greatest literary minds.   
  
 _I will not speak to you as an enemy._  
  
"'Enemy,'" Loki repeated, drawing breath. "Then you'd best not speak to me at all. For I am, and always have been, your enemy."  
  
Thor pushed himself from his own seat, trembling as he breathed, slow and deliberate. "Why? Why would you speak such lies to me?"  
  
"Lies?" Silvertongue chuckled. "Of course. The moment truth slips off my tongue, you assume it it all to be  _lies_. That is so like you, Thor." Loki knit his brow. "Like all of you."  
  
The elder prince took a singular step forward, his mouth open as if to speak when the door rattled, the sound of a key turning in the lock. It opened with a good kick, flying into the wall with a thud as a woman with a number of grocery bags hurried into the kitchen. Loki could hear her swear as one of the bags split open, cans rolling across the floor. But it seemed she did not stop to collect them, instead running back out to slam and lock the door again.  
  
She sighed, coming around to stand in the narrow hallway, hands on her hips.   
  
"Thor, I called you four times to come and help me," she said, distressed. "Why didn't you pick up?"  
  
The god looked to her with surprise, as if recalling that she had indeed asked for his assistance sometime earlier. He apologized, insisting that his phone had not been working properly.  
  
"It has not made any noise all day," he said. "I believed my cellular phone to be ill, Jane."  
  
Loki snickered quietly to himself as the woman immediately took notice of him.  
  
"Who the hell are you?" she demanded, crossing the room to end up at Thor's side. "What are you doing in are apartment?! Do you know him? I sure as hell don't know him!"  
  
"How precious," Loki said, looking her over with a gleaming eye. "Now, how did you come about a pretty little pet like this one? Did she just happen to follow you home one day?"  
  
Jane's eyes widened with rage and she turned to Thor. " _Excuse me_? Did he just call me your  _pet_?!"  
  
The woman appeared ready to come at him, but Thor stopped her with an arm, not bothering to spare her even a warning glance.   
  
"Why did you come here, Loki?"  
  
He paced before the window, easily allowing himself to be pulled back into the boiling darkness of his heart. "To ask you to deliver a message... to the  _Allfather._ "  
  
"What message?"  
  
"That he cannot stop me," Loki seethed. "That, powerful as he once was, he is now far too old and frail to cease the endeavors of Asgard's rightful king." He clenched a fist. "The day of reckoning is coming. Asgard, and the remainder of the Nine Realms will fall to their knees before me."  
  
Thor looked appalled.   
  
He stepped past them, not bothering to spare them the slightest gaze. "Let Odin do with that as he will."  
  
"No!" Thor took hold of his sleeve, yanking him back. "You cannot, Brother! You cannot do that to Asgard, to our father!"  
  
" _Your_  father!" Loki snapped, pulling out of his grasp. Jane retreated several steps. "He is your father, not mine!  _Never mine._ "  
  
The God of Mischief did not feel the cool air as it was barred from his skin, frost swiftly slithering across the pale flesh that, for all his years, had been a lie. A spell of magic cast upon him as a frail and dying infant.   
  
The God of Mischief did not feel the air as it was barred from his skin, frost quickly slithering across the pale flesh that, for all his years, had been a lie. A spell of magic cast upon him as a frail and dying infant.  
  
"None of you," he swallowed, "mean anything to me."  
  
"What of Mother?" To those words, Loki stopped at the door, the Jotunn's color draining far more swiftly than it had come about. "What am I to tell her?"  
  
The dark prince rested a hand on the door frame, taking in slow, shuddering breaths.  
  
If anyone had ever trusted him, truly understood how misplaced he had felt in the realm of the gods, it had been her. The woman whom he had always called his mother. Even with Odin's wrath prepared to fall upon him, she had begged, an act not at all fitting for such a glorious queen, that her son be spared until the Allfather had permitted all emotion to subside. If nothing else, she had granted him this chance; this opportunity to fulfill his own purposes, wicked as they may have been.  
  
At the back of his mind, he had often wondered if, even while hidden from the watchful eyes of the gods, she had known just where he'd been hiding all this time.  
  
For once, Loki bit his tongue, afraid to speak any falsehood about the woman whose heart he had captured as a child. The woman whose heart, he suspected, he still held within his bloodied hands.  
  
"You may tell the Lady Frigga... that  _her son_  still lives..."


	6. Northern Storm

Thor did not climb willingly out of bed the following morning. Rather, he lay upon the mattress and moped, tugging the sheets over his head in a manner that, Jane said, reminded her of her kid brother. But the god did not allow that comment, which was clearly meant to jerk an energetic reaction out of him, to get the better of him.  
  
Only when Jane had scurried off to work did he pull himself from the pit of his misery. He stared blandly into the bathroom mirror, his eyes no longer that bursting shade of blue that the mortals had always complimented him on. They appeared dull, listless. A perfect imitation of all the turmoil that churned with the bile in his gut.   
  
Slowly, and with far less enthusiasm than usual, Thor showered, brushed his teeth, and dressed before wandering out into the living room to ignore the news station playing on the television.   
  
He easily gravitated to the chair which, the night prior, had been occupied by his brother. The god eased himself into its comforts, turning it so that it pointed towards the window where he could watch the tiny people down below. But he soon found that it was impossible to focus on something so mundane; to engage in a pastime that had ever been Loki's.  
  
His gaze turned to the glass, as if expecting to see the unbelievable events, hear those biting words, that had transpired within this very room.   
  
It troubled him deeply that his brother had become so lost, so disturbed, in all this time. Not only in the months that Thor himself had flown through on Midgard, but within all the memories that he held within his head. Memories of their childhood spent willingly together. He had never believed himself superior to Loki. He had only ever believed that the two of them had different ideas, different talents, and that, as they grew older, they would continue to see each other as friends and allies.   
  
To think that Loki had resented him all this time, wished for genuine recognition from Thor himself, sent a pain through his chest.  
  
Had he known sooner, known that his beloved little brother had a hope with which to be appeased, Thor would have gladly given up everything for him.  
  
But, the way he had seemed the night before, bitter, convoluted, pained, Thor imagined that even that wouldn't, couldn't, have been enough.  
  
He sat quietly in that chair, fingers tugging at the plush arms as that unnamed scent lingered. It had always been with him, with them. Following Loki every which way he went, even when he wasn't to be seen by anyone at all. Wherever he had gone, that scent had followed, leaving a trail invisible to the eye.  
  
Even when all had believed him to be dead, it had never completely gone away.  
  
Thor bowed his head, the heels of his hands pressed firmly against his eyes. He would have to tell Director Fury of Loki's visit; tell his father and mother that their son, the child whom they had saved from death, would return with a vengeance.  
  
He bit his lip, unsure as to how he would relay the information to them; how he would challenge Odin in the stead of his brother; how their mother would react upon hearing that Loki had only ever considered himself her son.  
  
The god shook, fearing that, no matter the outcome, someone would walk away from this with much blood on their hands.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Gloved hands were shoved ever deeper into her pockets as Tony pulled her out onto the ice, the skates on her feet scraping across the smooth surface as he laughed, teasing and insisting that she start moving before they both fell down. But Pepper didn't like the cold, let alone being dragged out to play on a skating rink in the middle of a freezing day.   
  
The snow had blown in from the north in the last few days, and seemed to come down in sheets as he pulled the hood up for her, taking a hand from her pocket and leading her smoothly across the ice, oblivious, if not ignoring, the excited shouts of little children as they proclaimed to the world and their mothers that Iron Man was in their New York City.  
  
It made her smile though, when a little girl brushed up against her leg, tiny hands in purple mittens clinging to her coat as she struggled to get close to Tony.   
  
"Mister Iron Man?" she said, and Tony knelt down, the tip of her tiny button nose looking pinker than a valentine. Her family stood off on the side by a bench, her mother fastening the laces on her elder sister's skates. "Can we plays with you, please?  
  
As she watched him take off across the ice with the girl propped up on his shoulders, Pepper wondered why on earth they had never talked about children. The way they looked at him, they had a genuine adoration that stemmed from their youth and purity, allowing them to see the world as a wide place full of magic and wonder and love. They didn't have any room in their beautiful little hearts for real hatred or violence.  
  
Grateful that the girl had stolen Tony's attention, Pepper inched her way over to the bench, nearly toppling over backwards as a couple of teenage boys, likely skipping school, whizzed past her with hockey sticks and a puck. One of them turned and stopped, calling out an apology before returning to his game. She smiled and waved, finally falling on the bench where the girl's sister had been moments before, now rocketing across the ice to latch onto Tony's leg.  
  
"I'm sure all the children love him like this," the mother said, watching them romp about with a smile.  
  
Pepper nodded, adjusting her earmuffs a bit. Almost everywhere they went, a little boy or girl would tug on Tony's sleeve and ask if they could shake Iron Man's hand or take a picture with him because, "Iron Man is the greatest hero in the world, and I love him!"  
  
It didn't matter how long he took to pose for photos, sign autographs, or record short video messages for the kids, Pepper could see that he loved it.   
  
Sitting there, she played out the conversation in her mind, trying to determine just how she'd go about discussing the subject of children, their own children, with him. He was, of course, busy almost all the time, answering important phone calls and signing papers, concocting new ideas for his company, back sassing Director Fury, or, his claimed favorite, having her with him, so Pepper wasn't quite sure as to when the opportune moment would come.  
  
She stared after him, now flat on his face and laughing with a multitude of small children squealing and piling on top of him. It was a sad thought, but maybe he preferred other people's kids because, at the end of the day, he could give them back and not have to deal with them anymore. Or, maybe, he just appreciated the flattery and spotlight.  
  
Pepper sighed, stepping gingerly onto the ice, pointing herself in Tony's direction and skating awkwardly towards him, earning several chuckles as she went.   
  
"Help!" he cried with a laugh, reaching for her as several of the kids, now called away by parents, scurried away with smiles. "Pepper, save me!"  
  
By the time she made it to his side, those two little girls were sprawled on top of him, the smaller of the two very interested in trying to figure out how Iron Man's chest could glow by poking at his jacket.  
  
"Let's see. You're not bleeding, no broken bones, definitely didn't fall out of the sky again," Pepper smiled and took his hand, the children hopping to their feet. "I don't really think you need saving."  
  
Tony didn't say anything; just stood there holding her hand, and kept right on smiling.   
  
"What are you...?" She felt herself blush, suddenly flustered with a shock of embarrassment. Her hands flew to her face. "I-I'm red as a tomato, aren't I? That's what you're smiling about, isn't it?"  
  
"Well, yes, you do look an awful lot like a tomato." He took her hand again and pulled her close, whispering in her ear, "But you're the prettiest damn fruit I've ever seen."  
  
To that, Pepper could only squeeze his hand and smile.


	7. As We All FAll

Natasha was easily awakened by the blaring of her phone, her hand snapping up off the couch to yank it off the glass table. The handheld's alarm always frightened her more than that of her clock, perhaps because she had pre-set it to get her heart pumping with loud bass music. She jammed a finger into the screen, the sound silencing itself before it placing it on the couch beside her.   
  
It hadn't been her intention to fall asleep while watching Clint's boring movie, but she had been unable to help it. Although, as she sat there, silently pleased that the news was now silent on the screen, it could have only been worse if it had been a shoddily conceived, live-action imitation of a children's hit television program.   
  
Her eyes stared at the screen, unfocused, casually stretching herself across the couch once again. The past few days had given her much to think about. Particularly about the God of Mischief and his reasons for returning to New York.   
  
It would take more fingers than her own for Natasha to count just how many plots he could have been carrying around in his sleeve, and with no one, save the Avengers, the slightest bit aware that a devil was, undoubtedly, planning their demise.   
  
From within the kitchen, she could hear the faucet as Clint turned it on, the glass as he set it on the counter, and the microwave beep as his meal, probably something with starch, was through heating.   
  
"Clint?" she called, noting the obviously lazy tone in her own voice. She couldn't allow herself to care, though. She was damn tired. "Hey, Clint?"  
  
She heard the microwave door slam. "Yeah?"  
  
"Bring me a glass of wine, would you, please?"   
  
Natasha swung her legs off the couch, settling them on the table as she heard him digging through the cupboard for a glass. She grabbed a magazine from the table's underside, flipping it open to the cover story and reading through a paragraph before realizing that she really did not give a damn about any of it. Her mind was preoccupied to the point that it worried her, as even her dreams had taken to filling her subconscious with the smug face of that mischievous bastard.  
  
Frost giants, evil gods, and the Casket of Ancient Winters, whatever the hell that was. None of it made any damned sense.   
  
The glass tapped the table with a clink as Clint set it down, uncorking the wine to fill it up. When he was through, Natasha swept it up, downing it in seconds and giving the man a smile.   
  
"I said wine, not vodka."  
  
He shrugged, smirking back at her as he settled onto the couch, an arm around her waist as he pulled her to his side. "It'll still have the same affect later, won't it?"  
  
Natasha nodded, turning her attention back to the television screen to check the time. Six-thirty-seven. Leaning her head against Clint's shoulder, she closed her eyes and hoped to doze off again.   
  
The steady hum of the broadcast was soothing, the sound of Natasha's own heartbeat, and Clint's, filling her ears. But, were it to go on much longer, with him breathing slowly and steadily, now playing with her hand, Natasha feared she would never get back to sleep.  
  
She cracked an eye open, noting that he was still, his hand resting on her leg, acknowledging her previous thought as little more than paranoia. Or, perhaps, guilt.  
  
Natasha hadn't said a word to Clint about her visions, the phantom who, for one reason or another, seemed to have taken an interest in taunting her. She shifted against him, dragging in a slow, deep breath as she rested a hand on his, giving it a firm squeeze. The way he leaned his cheek against the top of her head, Natasha knew he was smiling.  
  
She wasn't.   
  
"Clint?"  
  
"Mm?"  
  
Her eyes closed. "I have something to tell you."  
  
There was silence, so she thought quickly. She'd make it as simple as possible; tell him that, the phantoms people had been seeing, the phantom she had been seeing, was the God of Mischief, come to threaten them in their city. Natasha would say that she hadn't known how to tell him, how to tell anybody, about her encounter with Loki at the cafe.  
  
"Clint, I..."  
  
"What in the hell...?"  
  
Clint sat up straight before she could choke it out, sending her tumbling towards the table where she smacked her head. For good measure, Natasha gave him a hard shove, pressing a hand firmly to the bump that would develop on her forehead, demanding to know what was so damned important that he'd scare the living hell out of her like that.   
  
He said nothing, just stared in shock at the television screen as, right before their eyes, the entrance to a subway tunnel collapsed downtown, the news station's helicopter zooming in on a man in a nearby crowd who, to Natasha, looked positively elated.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Pepper jumped visibly in her seat as the cab slid across the road, rocking when it finally came to a stop. Throughout the streets, people peered out windows and jumped out of cars, running, screaming, but all looking to the sky as a dark and visible cloud of dust seemed to cut through the snow for a moment. The city seemed to tilt on its axis as the cloud grew, the sound of collapsing rubble striking a chord in the air.  
  
She stared, pressing her hands to the cool window, Tony swearing violently beside her as he promptly got on the phone.   
  
People were running now, hopping over the cars stopped in traffic as, in the distance, flame rose up and around the area in which the tunnel had stood, licking the sky.  
  
"Tony..." Pepper leaned over and grabbed his arm. "What in the world is going on here?"  
  
"Shit!" he grimaced, the phone still in his hand. He dialed again, shoving it against his ear. "Come on, come on..." Pepper heard the distant sound of voice mail in the earpiece. "Answer the damned phone!"  
  
She pressed her forehead against his shoulder and closed her eyes. She wasn't one of them, one of the Avengers, but Tony always told her everything. And, as the radio crackled a confirmation report of the subway tunnel's collapse, she feared that the mention of giants and phantoms at the meeting was starting to come true.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Steve had stayed in the pool far longer than intended, pushing himself to continue the laps until his arms screamed that they would give out. But, when people began chattering, pulling themselves out of the lanes to towel off and rush into the locker rooms, he began to pay attention. He pulled himself off to the pool's edge, yanking off the swim cap and running a hand through his hair. The radio, which had been playing loud pop music only minutes before, now chattered on about an accident in the downtown area.  
  
He climbed out and grabbed his towel, moving as quickly as he could around the perimeter of the pool, and into the locker room. With the towel wrapped around his waist, Steve yanked the key off the chain around his neck and shoved it into his locker. It opened with a pop, his cell phone vibrating through the pocket in his jeans to rattle against the metal. Wiping his hands off on the towel, Steve reached into his pants, and pulled it out.   
  
The screen showed several missed calls from various members of the Avengers, though the one who seemed to have called him the most was Tony. He rolled his eyes.   
  
The phone went of again and he recoiled, startled by the loud sound for a moment before accepting the call and pressing it to his ear.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"For the love of...!" Tony shouted through the phone. "Why the hell don't you answer your damned phone?! Too busy reading war books in the library to give a damn?"  
  
Steve scowled. "Stark, what the hell is going on? What's this about the subway?"  
  
"Oh, good. So you did hear about it. Because, you know, after twenty damn minutes of everyone calling you, I was really beginning to think you didn't give a shit."   
  
"The subway, Stark!"  
  
Tony sighed, and Steve could almost see him massaging his temples with a hand. "Well, we're not sure what happened. It sorta just... fell down. And caught on fire." There was a pause. Steve imagined the other man waving a hand for dramatic gesture. "Almost like..."  
  
 _Magic._  
  
The Captain said nothing, holding the phone between his head and shoulder as he began to quickly dress himself from the bottom up. "Did you get hold of everybody?"  
  
"Well, I got you, didn't I?"  
  
"What about Fury, Thor, Bruce...?"  
  
"Oh, yeah. Yeah, we got 'em." Steve breathed a sigh of relief. "Er... Except Fury."


	8. What Nightmares Bring

The Avengers convened down the street from the collapse, stalking beneath yellow police tape to assess the damage as the Captain sought out the officer in charge of the scene, hoping to obtain a full status report. It seemed that the tunnel had collapsed from the inside of its own accord, stopping the trains in the underground and trapping thousands of people within. The screams around them only grew louder the longer they stood there, save Thor, who had taken to ripping up chunks of rubble, indignantly ignoring the various rescue crews who continuously asked him not to.   
  
Tony, helmet tucked under his arm, rolled his head, having half a mind to tell them that a demi-god would have a hell of a lot better luck with saving people than they would, as Thor wouldn't have to take the time to set up heavy machinery. He glanced to the others, taking notice of the fact that Clint and Natasha stood a good distance away from the wreckage, speaking in hushed voices and peering over their shoulders.   
  
Had the moment been appropriate, he would have made a joke about it, suggesting that they discuss their dirty little secrets at home and out of sight. But he pursed his lips and said nothing.   
  
Bruce had distanced himself as well, standing on a sidewalk behind the yellow tape with his arms folded, fingers visibly tugging at the sides of his shirt. As much as Tony loved trying to push his buttons, turn him green, this wasn't the place to piss him off any more than he already was. Didn't want people getting smashed and all that.   
  
He pulled the helmet back over his head and tromped over to the stairs that should have led into the underground, watching as Thor broke down the concrete.   
  
"Make a hole, will ya?" he said, the god giving him a quick look.   
  
"You wish to take a head count," came the reply. Tony nodded. "Very well, Man of Iron. I shall do as you ask."  
  
Tony rolled his eyes. As long as he'd been around, the poor guy still couldn't get a handle on human linguistics. But, at least he could lift that big ass hammer.   
  
"What are you doing?" Cap hollered as he turned around. "You're going to get somebody killed! This whole street could collapse at any minute, and the two of you are trying to play hero?!"  
  
The metal suit hovered just off the ground as Tony played with the controls, shooting the soldier a nasty glare through the mask. "Well, I'm pretty sure we're all superheroes here, Rogers," he gestured to the group. "So isn't our job to, I dunno,  _do something about all this_?"  
  
Thor grabbed hold of Tony's metal arm before pulling him back down. "It is as you requested."  
  
A satisfied smirk on his face, Tony slapped the demi-god on the shoulder as a means of thanks, and turned to the Captain with a mock salute as he began fitting himself through the hole.  
  
"Don't worry, Cap. Just leave this to those of us who aren't afraid to do something."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
The people in the restaurant didn't seem all that worried, despite knowing that there were hundreds, even thousands, of their fellow citizens writhing in the darkness of the underground. They simply went about their business, eating with their families, making copious amounts of noise with friends at the bar, or doing just as he was: Keeping to themselves.   
  
A bag sat beside him at the table, the glass brought to his lips as his eyes remained fixated upon the screen. Loki hadn't known hardly a thing about mortal feasts or liquors, but this drink, a martini as he believed it had been called, was nothing short of remarkable. Upon glancing at the table's small advertisement, he realized that mortal liquors seemed to be much more diverse than those of Asgard.   
  
The satisfaction was short-lived, however, even as the waitress returned to bring him another. As anticipated, the Avengers had arrived at the scene, the super soldier taking charge as the others either dawdled, or, in Thor's case, began tearing out chunks of street and sidewalk. He couldn't stand his once-brother's beating golden heart; his naivety and solid belief in the fact that each being, regardless of race, deeds, and mentality, held a core of light within their soul.   
  
That was why he'd tried to reason with Loki; convince him that, despite all his hatred and anger and wrongdoings, a tiger could change his stripes simply by willing it. But it was more than that which infuriated him; more than just knowing that gentle Thor couldn't take no for an answer. He had brought their mother into it.  _His_  mother.   
  
If at all possible, Loki sat there even quieter than before, willingly downing the second drink and motioning to the human woman for a third, all the while cursing his god's tolerance to liquor. Were he at all able, it wouldn't have been such a terrible thing for him to end up drunk and a bit out of his head. At the very least, he could cease thinking about all of this.   
  
Loki wondered, sitting at that table, brows knit together, allowing his volatile temper to flare, just what dear Frigga would say could she see him now.   
  
More likely than not, she would fawn over him as she always had, pull him close against her breast and whisper promises of safety, words of love. She would try to save him, though much more subtly than Thor ever had, remind him that, if nothing else, he had always been hers. Only hers, though those words had never escaped his confidence.  
  
His hand fell upon the bag, the shape familiar beneath his fingers. How disappointed she would be, to discover the monstrosities his keen mind had concocted. But, surely, she must have known that, with her plea to Odin, he would have been spared for a time, and that those fleeting days would have granted him an opening with which to escape Asgard.   
  
Loki settled back in the chair, strap of the bag held tightly in his fist as his eyes closed for a moment. In the bowels of Odin's palace, under the careful watch of the guard, she had sat with him for hours on end, her fingers weaving through his hair, not once speaking until it came time for her to depart. Each time, gentle Frigga had spoken the same words:  
  
 _"My son..._  My  _son."_  
  
They hung on his lips, and Loki could almost feel her hand on his shoulder, fingers moving to trace an arm through his sleeve.   
  
If no one else, he loved her.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
The arclight whirred, brightening the tunnel as the helmet's dark vision grew light in the lenses. Dust fell from the collapsed ceiling as people walked above ground, the sound of Thor pulling away rubble echoing with a frightening boom. Perhaps he could go back, shout for the others to keep everyone quiet, still. But, he feared that even the slightest vibration within this death trap would be enough to bring it down upon the heads of innocents.  
  
Tony proceeded with caution, hands held out before him and glowing, as he took slow steps, not daring to rocket his way through the dark. As he ventured further, he caught sight of the crushed back end of a train, the lights inside sparking several times before fizzing and dying out. A whimper followed immediately after.   
  
Stepping up to the train, he peered through the cracked and shattered windows before pushing through the glass, sending it skittering to the floor of the train car. There, hidden under the row of seats, was a small boy in a heavy winter coat, a blue knit cap sitting snugly on his head as he cried.   
  
"Here," Tony whispered, reaching for the child. The boy did not move. Just stared at him with frightened eyes. He took a moment, mind churning a mile a minute before the mask flipped up and he smiled as sincerely as he could. "Iron Man's here to save you."  
  
The child's eyes seemed to light up as he crawled from beneath the seats, little feet slapping the floor as he flung himself into Tony's arms, crying.   
  
"Iron Man save me," he wailed against the suit's shoulder. "Iron Man save me!"  
  
Tony nodded, sitting down in one of the seats as he balanced the boy in his arms. "JARVIS, page Cap for me."  
  
"Right away, sir," the machine replied, a crackling sound coming into his ear.   
  
It buzzed a moment before Steve's voice cut through. "Stark? Stark, what the hell is going on down there?!"  
  
"Aw, hell, I paged you?" he whispered with sarcasm. "Damn. Hey, do me a favor and put Sparky on the line."  
  
He could almost see the Captain frowning and shaking his head, the sound of the device changing hands booming in Tony's ear.  
  
"You requested to speak with me, Man of Iron."  
  
Tony grinned. "Yeah. Hey, I need you and the green guy to get that tunnel entrance open and send Cap down. We've got kids stuck in here, and I'm gonna need some help."  
  
"It shall be done," Thor replied, and the transmission died.   
  
The child held tightly to him as Tony stood, the mask coming down over his face again as he stepped out of the train car, one hand balancing the boy while the other glowed to light the tunnel ahead. They walked ahead several yards before another sound reached him, the display in his helmet homing in on a man pinned beneath a mound of concrete.  
  
Setting the child on the ground, Tony told him to stay put, hurrying to the moaning figure in the dark.   
  
"Get me out," the man begged as he came close. He reached for Tony. "Please, just get me out..."  
  
The arclight glowed brighter, lighting the surrounding area to unmask the crowds of people who sat along the wall, huddled together and covered in debris, some of them bleeding. Tony motioned to the boy, instructing him to go sit down with the rest of the group, and returned his attention to the victim who had taken hold of his arm.   
  
The man was sprawled on the ground, barely moving as he whimpered, one leg trapped beneath, what had to be, the point of the tunnel's collapse.   
  
His communicator hissed again.  
  
"We better get this damned tunnel open now, or a lot more people are gonna die..."


	9. Paper Trail

Pepper lay quietly in bed within the hotel, unable to sleep knowing that Tony was out there in the cold, probably digging through the wreckage. She had wanted to go with him, but he had insisted otherwise, saying that she'd be better off waiting in their room; that she'd fall asleep, and that the time would pass by quickly. Really, Pepper would have felt a lot better if Tony had just told her she'd be getting in the way, instead of sending her off to be on her own.  
  
She sat up, the sheets falling off her shoulders as she reached up and adjusted the strap of her tank. The silence that accompanied her was one the sort that nobody wanted. The awkward kind that hung over a group when someone, like Tony, popped off with an easily inappropriate comment.  
  
The remote lay on the bedside table, her finger depressing the power button to set the screen alight. They always watched the news, except when it came time for their movie nights together, and the broadcast shone brightly through the room. Pepper set the television on mute, selecting the option for subtitles, watching as they scrolled across the screen.   
  
From the helicopter's camera, she could see the Avengers as they tore the tunnel apart, Thor and the Hulk tossing rubble into the back of a large construction vehicle. Clint and Natasha slid through a hole in the rubble after the Captain, but Tony was nowhere in sight. He was likely inside with the victims, and, even knowing that he had the suit to protect him, the very thought had Pepper on the edge of the bed, phone in her hand.  
  
At that moment, she decided that, if in the next five minutes, Tony didn't come out of the tunnel...  
  
Pepper stopped, the thought dawning on her as a foolish idea. Who would she call, Tony? Director Fury? They were all on the scene, doing what they could to save the people buried in the subway. The phone dropped from her hand and onto the bed. Were she to make that call, she would only be a distraction, a hindrance, and might even cost someone their life.   
  
Scooting across the bed, she looked away from the screen and grabbed his pillow, feet falling against the soft carpet as she crossed the room to the wide balcony window. With her face in the pillow, Pepper breathed in his scent, hoping she'd smell it coming off him as soon as he walked through that door, covered in dirt and sweat. But, until he returned, she'd have to satisfy herself with this, watching from their hotel window as searchlights waved around the site.   
  
"You'd do well to get some sleep."  
  
Pepper turned, her eyes like saucers as she stared incredulously at the man who had appeared on the opposite side of the room. Nails dug into the plush of the pillow as she held it closer to her chest, as though, if he really were there, it would somehow protect her. For several long minutes she stared, but he remained fixated on watching the searchlights as they shone down between the distant buildings, refusing to take notice of the fact that she was watching him.  
  
Quickly as he'd come, he was gone from sight, her hand abruptly being lifted into the air as the man stood mute behind her. Pepper pulled away from him, fingers slipping away from her wrist as he watched her passively, seemingly unperturbed by the action.   
  
"I find it rather dense," he said in leveled tones, "that a woman as brilliant as yourself would deign to partner with the famed ' _Merchant of Death._ '"  
  
Her nostrils flared, legs carrying her quickly across the room where, with an open palm, she struck him.   
  
"You do  _not_  know Tony," Pepper leered. Tony wasn't the man he had been four years ago.   
  
The man's hand moved slowly to his mouth, slipping a finger between his lips before withdrawing a smear of blood. He raised his darkened eyebrows at the sight, shocking blue eyes seeming to grow wide, and Pepper could see the subtle twitch of his upper lip.  
  
She hadn't thought that striking this man, whom she still did not know, could have been a bad idea. For all Pepper knew, she was sound asleep in their hotel room, and the man was just a part of a very strange dream. Perhaps she was tossing and turning in bed as Tony walked through the door, leaving a kiss on her cheek before taking a quick shower prior to retiring to bed.   
  
His hand closing around her throat, however, dispelled all of that. He was very real.  
  
"Would you scream for me," he hissed, "were I to drop you over the edge?"  
  
Wind howled through Pepper's red hair, and they were out on the balcony, even the warmth of his skin fading into a numbing chill. Cold air snaked its way into her nose and throat as, ever so gently, he pressed her back to the railing, tipping her over backwards until her eyes could look down at the icy street below.   
  
The woman grit her teeth, nails clawing at him through the sleeve of his coat, lips pursed in open defiance. She would not scream. No matter what he did to her, Pepper would not allow herself to scream.   
  
" _Would you_?" he repeated, this time with force.   
  
Pepper shook her head. "No..."  
  
"Would you scream were you to find  _his blood_  on your hands?"  
  
Images of Tony's broken body invaded her mind, the metal of the suit cracked, dented, and flaking off as if it had merely been painted on, a costume. In her mind's eye, she cried for him, called his name, begged him to open his eyes to look at her, if only once.   
  
She swallowed, and his eyes grew sharp.   
  
" _No._ "  
  
He watched her a moment more, and leaned in close to her ear. "You  _lie_. You  _love_  him. You would  _die_  for him... wouldn't you?"  
  
She made no answer.  
  
Pepper was wrenched forward, and found herself flying through the frost until she landed firmly on the floor by the bedside, looking up to find that the door to the balcony was indeed open, snowflakes melting down to water beads in her frazzled red hair. And, sitting there, she knew that the city's inhabitants had not been seeing a phantom.  
  
They had seen the devil.   
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
It was nearing midnight when the team, weary and starving, in Tony's case, found themselves being seated in a lavish hotel restaurant, courtesy of the billionaire and his status, where a bottle of wine came to grace every occupied table. They sat awkwardly, noting the obvious dirt and sweat upon their clothes as Thor inspected a fork, and Tony rushed to the restroom to see if he could manage to remove his armor without JARVIS' assistance.   
  
Natasha brushed debris out of her hair, earning a dirty look from a waitress as she passed by with meals for another table. The assassin, far too tired to give the woman the tongue lashing that she had coming, simply waved it off and dropped her forehead onto the tabletop.   
  
"I am so tired," she murmured as Clint rubbed her back.  
  
Steve removed his mask and set it aside. "We all are."  
  
"I want to go home and sleep..."  
  
Thor pounded the table with a heavy fist, causing the silverware to jump and clatter. "Rejoice, my friends! For we have saved the lives of thousands on this day! It is one to be celebrated and remembered by all!"  
  
"That's nice," Clint remarked, "but we don't all have your godly endurance."  
  
Bruce drummed his fingers on the table and slipped quickly out of the booth. "Well, I'm going home before the big guy rips one of you a new one. So, if you'll all excuse me..." He waved, and headed right out the door without another word.  
  
Natasha looked up and frowned. "Yeah, that's just what I wanted to think about before I ordered something: One of you with Bruce's hulking, green hands tearing open your..."  
  
"Is that not Pepper?" Thor interrupted, holding the tiny glass shakers in a palm. "She appears rather distressed."  
  
Steve chortled, clapping him on the shoulder. "No, Thor, that," he pointed to the dark shaker, "is a pepper shaker. I can see how you'd be confused, considering Stark's girlfriend is  _named_  Pepper, but..."  
  
The god shook his head and stood from the table, bumping it against Natasha's head.   
  
"No. She is there," he pointed to the door where a flustered-looking woman with red hair and a coat stood, attempting to get the receptionist to allow her to pass.   
  
Natasha watched with tired eyes as he and Steve left the table, hurrying across the wide room to reach Pepper before the receptionist grew tired of her and called up security. She sighed, turning her head away as she closed her eyes once again. Maybe just sitting here with Clint, not having to listen to the god prattle on about the function of his cell phone and other nonsense, would relax her somewhat.   
  
At least, she hoped so.  
  
The table rattled again and Natasha seethed, sitting straight up as she contemplated soaking her offender in kerosene before setting him on fire.   
  
"Hey, sleepy head," Tony chuckled, sliding into the booth beside Clint. "Why so serious? Did all that heavy lifting tire you out?"  
  
The assassin gave him the nastiest look she could muster, watching with great satisfaction as Clint gave the man a good shove, telling him that he really ought to keep his mouth shut, and just get someone over to the damned table so they could get something quick to eat.   
  
Sometimes, Clint just made her so damned proud to be his partner.   
  
The billionaire, now sporting a dark suit and tie which, Natasha assumed, he must have jetted back to his hotel for, was promptly drained of all glee that he had possessed, slouching over a bit as a morbid expression fell across his face.   
  
"That was some crazy shit today."  
  
"Stark."  
  
"No, really. I... I saw things today that I thought I'd forgotten."  
  
Natasha nodded, red hair bobbing across her forehead. They had all seen another piece of hell today, watched people fade away as the scourge of their wounds and the bitter winter weather had come to rage against them. They had seen children walk shakily out of the tunnel without mothers, fathers, brothers and sisters; had seen citizens of all ages as they were rushed to the hospital for near-fatal injuries, some of them having even lost limbs to the collapse. It was sickening to her that anyone, be they god or man, could bring this kind of torment upon another living being.   
  
But, she knew, this had been the work of a god.  
  
The Black Widow sat up, elbows resting on the table as she remembered that none of them knew of her encounter with Loki. Sooner or later, she would have to speak up.  
  
Tony rose from the table as Thor and Steve returned with Pepper, removing his suit jacket and sweeping her chilled body into his warm arms.   
  
"God, Pepper. What are you doing here?" He stepped aside, draping the jacket over her shoulders, thus allowing Pepper's escorts to take their seats again. "Why'd you come?"  
  
She held onto Tony with trembling hands, her lips drained of color while her face looked about as red as their wine. "There was a man... in our hotel room..."  
  
"What?! Pepper, who...?"  
  
"You're not the only one who's seen him," Natasha quipped, drawing their attention. "I've come across him a couple times myself."  
  
She motioned to Clint to move over, sliding further into the rounded booth to allow Tony and Pepper some space.   
  
"Now, what's this talk about a man?" Steve inquired, leaning across the table. "Who is he, where have you seen him, and how often?"  
  
"Twice," Natasha said, looking to her partner. "No contact was made the first time, but, when Clint and I stopped for some coffee the other day, he confronted me."  
  
The marksman stared at her, his eyes swimming as he struggled for something to say, to feel. Natasha assumed that, seeing how she hadn't mentioned this right away, he was going to settle somewhere between hurt and betrayal. Honestly enough, she hoped it would be the latter. If she was going to have to apologize, she'd prefer it be for not telling him soon enough, rather than for hurting his feelings.   
  
And, in her defense, she had attempted to tell him earlier that evening.  
  
"Nat, why didn't you say something?" Clearly, she'd rubbed the hawk's feathers the wrong way.  
  
"Remember when we were watching the news earlier, and you completely ignored me as soon as the tunnel collapsed? Yeah, I tried." She sighed, lifting her glass to painted lips. "Really, Clint. I wasn't keeping it a secret from you. I just... didn't know how to say it."  
  
He shifted, crossing his arms with a shake of his head. Natasha ignored him.  
  
"Do you have any idea as to who this man was, Natasha?" Thor said, the jolly twinkle in his eye now gone. A shame. She rather liked being reminded of Santa Claus when she peered into his blue gaze. Especially with Christmas just around the corner.  
  
"It was Loki."  
  
The god looked as though he wanted to sink into the floor. "I see. I too had an audience with my brother just the other evening."  
  
Tony looked to Pepper as she snuggled beside him.  
  
"You too, Pepper?"   
  
The woman nodded, slipping her arm around Tony's. "I think so."  
  
"What did he do to you?"  
  
"He... He talked about you, and... Threatened to drop me off the balcony..."  
  
Tony looked positively pissed.  
  
"So the three of us," Steve motioned between himself, Clint, and Tony, "and Bruce, are the only ones who haven't seen him yet. Why?"  
  
"If we knew, we wouldn't be having this meeting," the hawk snorted.   
  
A light lit up in Natasha's head, remembering that, when she had stepped out of the car, she had grabbed hold of the manila envelope that she'd stashed beneath the passenger's seat. Reaching behind her back, she took hold of it, tossing it upon the table. The papers skittered through the opening.  
  
"He gave me these," she said. "Told me that, at first, he'd made plans to visit each of us while we were separated. But, since he found out that we were all called here on such short notice, he didn't really need to waste time on all of us."  
  
The files were passed around, easily shocking to all who looked at them. And there was no reason for them to not be surprised. It was all information that could only have belonged to SHIELD, and the God of Mischief had surely seen every letter of these pages, right down to the last punctuation mark.  
  
"That still doesn't explain why he's here, let alone why we can't get in touch with Fury."  
  
Tony growled, clinging to Pepper's hand. "This is a real pain in the ass."  
  
Clint nodded in agreement. "I'll say. But what the hell do we do about it? What  _can_  we do?"  
  
"I will go," Thor said, "and seek the aid of my father."  
  
"Your father?" Tony murmured, a disbelieving look on his face. "The god? Like, Zeus, or something?"  
  
"Odin."  
  
"Ah, right. Odin..." The billionaire quickly downed his wine. "Yeah, don't know how I feel about that. 'Cause, I'm not really the 'god-fearing' sort and all, so..."  
  
"Do it," Steve instructed. "Find out if there's anything we can do to end all this."  
  
When the waitress finally returned, her apron askew and hair wildly disheveled, the Avengers found that, no matter how long they stared at the now open menus, not a one of them had an appetite with which to eat anything.


	10. God's Away On Business

They greeted him with joy, with praise, with powerful embrace, sweeping him out of the gate and onto the strong back of his horse, laughing and proclaiming his return to all who would listen as, so much like the days of the past, they rode swiftly back to Odin's palace. The reins were taken from him as he dismounted, the beautiful animal being returned to its stable for a night of grooming and rest. A curiosity came through him as he passed the stable by, all laughter immediately sucked from his lungs as he caught sight of the black beast with a coat that had once been glossy and sleek. His brother's horse, likely not removed from the stable except to allow bathing and exercise, and the creature, with its wide brown eyes, seemed to watch Thor with a longing, as if to say, "Has my prince forgotten me?"

With Lady Sif and the Warriors three, Thor swept through the halls like a great north wind, having easily fallen deaf to the triumphant sounds of his friends' voices. He tried not to count the doors as they passed through the eastern wing of the palace, reminding himself that his brother was not at home, and that he would not leave his chambers to come following at their heels as he always had.

Those days were long since gone.

"It is a pleasure to see you all again," he told them, clapping a smiling Fandral on the shoulder as they passed a collective of servant girls. "To be home and among my dearest of friends."

"Have you not met others on Midgard?" Sif inquired, her thin, dark brows rising up with curiosity.

Thor beamed, remembering how he'd come to meet Jane, the agents of SHIELD, and the Avengers. "I have." He stopped, took hold of her forearm. "But, as dear as they are to me, I shall never expect them to take the place of the friends with whom I have shared the entirety of my life." Save it be Jane.

She smiled.

The prince remained silent for a time, and, as soon as they had stepped out of the eastern wing, Thor's gaze began to wander, greeting the palace servants and guards as they welcomed him home, and hoping to quickly find his mother. Luck did not smile upon him so, and the group soon arrived to stand before the great doors of Odin's throne room. Not a one of them moved to push through the gilded doors, announce their presence to the Allfather. Rather, they looked to their prince, one by one, eyes brimming with the same heated question.

"Is there something wrong?" Volstagg chuckled, pulling Thor into a one-armed embrace. "Surely doors such as these are nothing to a man of your strength."

The God of Thunder forced a smile that quickly vanished as he lifted his gaze to the golden barrier.

As much as he loved him, had missed him, he did not want to stand before his father upon the dias within the throne room, be welcomed home only to offer up unpleasant news. For Thor knew that, more than anything, his father's wrath would surely be incurred by the mere mention of Loki's name. He would much prefer to see to his mother first. Perhaps allow her to aid him in the quelling of the Allfather's mighty temper.

"I wish to see my mother," he said, retreating from the doors. He turned to Sif. "Do you know where I might find her?"

The quiet snickering of Volstagg and Fandral was silenced immediately, bowing their heads only slightly as Sif returned, "She spends much of her time in the gardens now."

Thor nodded, excusing himself as he left their company, winding his way back through the eastern wing so as to allow himself more time to think.

He had always known, just like any other child, that his mother had loved him; loved his brother. To a compassionate mother, the lives, the welfare, of her children took priority, even to her own. And it had been no surprise to find that, during both his banishment, and Loki's own disappearance, sleep had not come to her willingly. He had learned that, while he had been sent away, seeking his redemption in one of the many deserts of Midgard, she had mourned him. And, Thor was sure that, with Loki now gone, hidden from her, she was just as distraught, if not more so.

It could not have been easy, he imagined, for any mother to lose her children.

The silk curtains of the palace slid through his fingers, that old smell coming to assault his senses. He looked up, admiring the deep emerald color of the draperies, realizing that he had walked himself right into his brother's chambers. Everything was as it had been before, not a thing out of place. But, as he glanced quietly to the bed, envisioning his infant brother as he had slept fitfully, Thor could easily see the imprint of his mother's thin body upon the coverings, right where she had always sat as she had rocked the wailing baby back to sleep.

It seemed that she had been here.

His hand slid across the smooth structure of the balcony, remembering their days as boys when they would play at adventures, one chasing the other wildly around the room as they both ran across the wide stone surface. He looked over and into the gardens, tracing with his eyes the erratic patterns they had used as they had hidden from one another. Up trees and behind bushes, sometimes going so far as to run along the shallow walls of the fountains, only to topple easily into the cool water.

It was there that he saw her, hand sending slight ripples through the running water, golden curls shining in the sun as they rode over one shoulder in a wave.

A smile would have been appropriate were he to have come home for any reason other than to bring bad news. He swung a leg over the balcony, steadily easing himself down the sides of the balustrades before letting go, landing on his feet in the soft green grass with a solid thud.

If Frigga heard him, she did not look up, did not move from her perch at the edge of the fountain.

"My Queen," Thor said, bowing at her side.

A smile fell upon her tired face, moving to pat a space at her side. "Just 'mother' will do, my son," she said, and Thor settled beside her. Frigga looked to him with kind eyes. "It is good to have you home."

He leaned in to kiss her cheek. "It is good to be home."

She nodded, and Thor caught sight of the flower petals that lay on the marble beside her. There were many, and in a great variety of colors. However, the ones that stood out to him were those of the balsamine and primrose; the flowers of impatience and undying love. Thor grimaced, watching as his mother took them in her hand one by one, giving each a moment's glance before casting it into the fountain.

"How does she fare, my son?"

He looked up, startled. "'She?'"

"Your Jane." Frigga gave him a wry smile. "I trust she is well."

"She is." He beamed, recalling Jane's face. She always smelled of lavender and cherries, always seemed to possess an infinite amount of patience when she taught him of the great and mysterious workings of her world.

The queen fell silent again, the fountain water now filled with tiny floating spots of color that abruptly reminded Thor of the cake that had exploded in his and Jane's kitchen in New Mexico. He smiled, pleased that his mother had approved of their being together.

"I trust you did not come home solely to engage in small talk."

Her tone brought him down, the smile vanishing in its entirety. "No."

"You bring news."

"I do."

Frigga's eyes closed as she shifted, moving closer to his side. With her shoulder touching his arm, she looked up at him, gaze glazed over with a thin layer of moisture. She took his hand, held it tightly.

"Of your brother?"

Thor could see that she tried not to sound hopeful.

"Yes."

She leaned into him then, appearing far less like a queen as his arm wrapped around her, his mother's lithe body shuddering as she sobbed.

Again, he could not understand just how Loki could do this to them. Do this to her.

**# - # - # - #**

"You come to us again, Little Prince of Asgard. How? Why?"

The frosted beast stared down at him from its throne, with a voice that, to any mortal, would have sounded as that of their great god. He fought back a sly smile, having allowed himself the pleasurable thought that they would have fallen to the earth in naught but sheer terror. The ice swirled visibly through the air, his Asgardian coverings having flashed upon his form with but a flick of his nimble wrist.

He had come by way of spells, the gateways between the worlds that even the great gatekeeper could not discern. By way of the many branches of Yggdrasil.

Loki said nothing, merely looked up at the king with a strange myriad of admiration and disgust. Though he was one of them, the Frost Giants of Jotunheim were still nothing but tribal beasts, uncivilized in every sense of the word. Offering sacrifices within their temples to a false deity that would not hear their prayers, grant them their desire to end the rule of the Aesir over the Nine Realms. It was strange to admit, but having been claimed by Odin had saved him the injustice of becoming naught but a savage.

The Allfather, in his attempt to unite worlds and establish peace, had dug himself a premature grave by teaching the son of Laufey the ways of the gods.

For that alone was Loki grateful to him.

"Asgard?" he mimicked, quirking a brow. "Hardly. I am, strange as it may sound, one of..." The prince glanced around the last remains of a fallen throne room. He made a disgusted face. "... _your_  people."

The Jotunn king, whose name he did not care to know, though presumed to be another of Laufey's sons, lunged at him then, hand outstretched and catching the prince by the arm. Neither of them wavered in the slightest, the frigid beast seeming to scowl at the claim as Loki silently held his own ground. He could hear them, standing behind him, speaking in the same accusing whispers that had filled Odin's palace following his fall into the Odinsleep. The whispers that had called him thief and liar, a traitor and disgrace to the very name of the gods.

No matter where they came from, he hated them all.

"You lie," the Jotunn sneered, peering maliciously into his bright eyes.

Loki laughed, casting his glance to his arm held between them, his lip curling in a knowing and scornful manner. "Am I? Perhaps we should take a look."

Silvertongue lifted his arm in the giant's grasp, the coloration shifting vigorously as the ice swept through his veins, those detestable marks of monsters rising beneath his skin, the blue eyes he had once believed to be Frigga's alternating to the opposing shade of boiling mortal blood. The beast released him with a promptness he had never seen, his tall form lumbering back a step with astonishment and suspicion in his own bloody gaze.

Sickening as it may have been, he was prince of both Jotunheim and Asgard. The former by birth, and the latter in name and Aesir law only. In all the time he had spent dwelling on these facts, upon his heritage, Loki could not find it in himself to accept one over the other, for they both disgusted him to the point that he wished to vomit.

"What sorcery is this?!" the Jotunn cried, raising a hand with which to strike him. "Speak, Asgardian!"

"Did you not ever wonder why your pagan gods ceased to hear your cries, grant you your desires for the realm of the Aesir? It is that your sacrifice, all those years ago, did not take; did not bleed its blood upon the altar of your wretched temple." He bowed in ridicule of the king, and rose, spreading his arms before him as a means of flaunting his superiority, his identity as said sacrifice. "As much as you may wish to repel my words, you cannot tell me that they do not ring true even to your ears, oh, King." The title was punctuated with venom, and the Jotunn shook with anger as Loki turned his back upon him. "Now, should you choose to strike me down, Jotunheim will lose all hope of restoration."

He could sense the Jotunn's hesitation. "What have you to offer, Son of Odin?"

The title struck him like the mighty Mjolnir. How he had grown to hate his false status as the Allfather's child. But Loki would not allow the likes of these savages to know. For, in Jotunheim, weakness was the equivalent of death.

"The Casket is in my possession." He spoke slowly, deliberately, allowing the words to sink through the thickness of their frozen hides. "Obey me, follow me, and I shall relinquish it unto Jotunheim."

"What is it that you want?" the giant replied after heavy contemplation. "What does the God of Mischief seek within Jotunheim?"

This made the prince of darkness smile all the more, his color receding as the blue drained itself into his shining eyes.

He reply was simple:

_"Mischief."_   



	11. Good Day And Good Die

In the days following Thor's departure, there was much talk of the events that had transpired since the Avengers had convened in New York. The visions of phantoms and blue giants had, thanks to the trickster's rather obvious penchant for games, easily been dismissed as little more than Loki's doing; a means for him to taunt them, scare the citizens right out of their minds. It was only a pity that it had taken them this long to realize. Though, as Steve had said, without any malice, it couldn't have been helped, what with their teammates being unsure as to how to deal with such convincing visions themselves.   
  
With Fury missing, and none of them able to contact him, the Captain had, after much deliberation, agreed to take the bull by the horns and conduct the meetings until such a time as the Director could be found and returned in safety. So, for the next several days, the Avengers had met up around noon, treated each time to a fabulous lunch courtesy of Tony and the many wealthy fans he had within the Big Apple.   
  
Even with the obvious instruction to keep on their toes, Natasha had found that she still wasn't satisfied by just playing lookout. And the idea of Thor appealing to his father for aid sounded nothing short of outlandish and foolish. She had no doubt of the god's power, but that still was not enough to lead her to believe that Odin would comply with the request. Were he, as Thor had said, the most powerful being in all of the Nine Realms, the assassin had little reason to hope that he would abandon his duties and send them his support. Otherwise, she believed, he would have done so to aid against the Chitauri earlier that year.  
  
It was shocking that, in a city so large, she could find so little to do with her time. There were no orders for espionage or assassination, and it left her rather deflated to do little more than wander in and out of shops, sneak around Broadway, and sit up in her lofty apartment watching reruns of old television programs.   
  
She had grown rather bored of Clint as well, as he seemed interested in little else besides cooking and heading out to SHIELD's closed-off training facility to play with his arrows. Regardless, Natasha always found herself going along.   
  
On more than one occasion, she had considered giving Thor a call to see how things were going in Asgard. But it had suddenly dawned on her that the idea was rather foolish, as he likely hadn't even known what a cell phone was a month ago, and still struggled with the concept. She also doubted that the realm of the gods had any cell service.   
  
With each passing day, the snow came down harder and harder, to the point that schools were shutting down, and kids were spending their time romping around parks, building snow forts and playing war.   
  
Some mornings, when they would sled down their makeshift hills on the frozen streets, Natasha would bundle up and go outside to watch them, smiling as they laughed, often making fun of one another for some blunder of sorts. On others, she would walk speedily to that same little cafe on the corner, order a cup of tea, and settle herself at that very same table, glancing to the door and expecting the prince of lies to come sauntering in, that crooked smirk on his damned face.   
  
Had he come, Natasha would have gladly choked him for stirring up all this mess.   
  
It was just a shame that he never arrived.   
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
He stood, still and quiet, upon the dias, struggling to still his fluttering heart as Odin entered the throne room following his morning meal, a look of genuine satisfaction upon his weathered face. The Allfather smiled, handing his scepter to the guard that escorted him, and hurried down the steps to take Thor in a warm embrace. By way of habit, the prince returned the gesture, forcing a smile as he swallowed the words that weighed like lead upon his tongue.   
  
"My son," came the booming voice, a gnarled hand upon his broad back. Odin stepped back, holding Thor at an arm's length. "You have finally returned to us."  
  
The prince would have sworn to have seen a tear in his father's eye, for this was their first time seeing one another since Thor had been home, but he said nothing. He nodded as the Allfather pulled him in again, returning the embrace once more with a heavy heart. They parted then, Thor holding the god's hand as they headed down the steps and into the halls, making easily towards the dining hall where, Odin insisted, his son do him the pleasure of sharing in a good bit of wine.   
  
Together they sat at table, suddenly laden with meal for the returned prince, the velvet curtains pulled open, the golden hangers scraping against the poles as sunlight flooded the room. When the attending servants were dismissed, Odin leaned over in his seat, smiling as Thor began partaking of the feast, bits of warm bread and sweetmeat settling themselves upon his plate.   
  
The Lady Frigga joined them then, sweeping behind Thor to greet him with a swift kiss on the cheek, her distresses from the days before seemingly forgotten as she was seated. However, Thor did not deign to hope for such a thing.   
  
"You must forgive me, my son," said Odin, "but I have spent these past days in thought, seeking to avoid war."  
  
Thor nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat. "War, Father?" He scoffed, trying to keep up a casual appearance. "Who would seek war with us now?"  
  
The elder god sighed, reclining in his carved chair. "Who else but the Jotunns? They have sought the Casket for months, demanding it, and yet, as you must know, I have nothing to give. It is a relief that, now, they allow me a bit of peace."  
  
Of course he knew; he had known since word had reached him, before his return to Midgard, that his dear brother had fled the palace, fled Asgard, with naught but a trace. It had been suspected, though never confirmed, that he had set off with the relic, perhaps as a means with which to further flaunt his belief that Odin had no courage with which to exact judgment.   
  
His gaze fell upon his mother, noting the obvious way she shifted in discomfort. It seemed she knew where his father was heading with this, and Thor braced himself for the discussion that was to come.   
  
"How fare your friends?" the Allfather inquired, the gleam in his eye absent.   
  
Thor raised a fist, his sign of good health and strength. "They are well, Father," he boomed. "They are capable for mortals, and, save those here in Asgard, I have never yet had a more loyal band of companions."  
  
The God of Thunder immediately regretted that last bit, having recalled to mind the fact that he had always called Loki his dearest friend and brother; had always trusted him and his word before that of any other. And yet, that beloved companion of his, that beloved shadow, had turned away from him, far too easily shoving a knife into his back.   
  
The way his father's eyes narrowed, Thor felt like he was slowly pulling teeth.   
  
"I see." The reply was delayed, monotonous, distracted, and Odin turned his eye away, peering across the room. "I do... hope you will continue to be a better judge of character."  
  
Those words made Frigga tremble.   
  
"Father..." Thor tread carefully, trying not to appear overzealous. He folded his hands together, hoping that the Allfather would hear him out. "I have no intention of remaining in Asgard."  
  
Odin, still avoiding his gaze, nodded. "I know."  
  
"And I have not returned home for..." He balked, sighing through his nose as he pressed a hand to his broad forehead, unsure of how to go on. He could not say that this visit was nothing; that it didn't mean anything to him. That would be greatly insulting. "I have... come to ask for your aid."  
  
The sight of the innocent victims of the tunnel flooded back, and he could feel the cold of a Midgardian winter slipping through the plates of his armor, hear the sobs of children as they pleaded for help, smell the scent of cold and blood and debris as it wafted through the smoky air of the city. His fingers had been scraped so much against the rubble and broken slabs of concrete, that they had become chafed, the very notion of a clenched fist sending sparks of pain through his strong hands.   
  
He could not let Midgard be assaulted any longer. He could not let her people die because of a grudge that was held against him; against his family. Were he to stand by and allow Loki to destroy them, it would be very much the same as bathing in their blood himself.   
  
"They are dying, Father!" he said, the Allfather continuing to ignore him. Thor laid his hands flat upon the table, his mother's eyes wide. "Please... do not forsake them now..."  
  
Odin left his seat then, pacing silently about the room, the hem of his cape dragging across the polished floor.   
  
"What would you have me do, then?" he said, lifting his head. "How would you ask me to help them?"   
  
"Send us soldiers! Allow me to lead them into...!"  
  
"Soldiers? Another army with which to alarm them, my son? The mortals know not now who is friend and foe; do not know the ways of the gods, or that our men would march into battle to protect them from this great evil."  
  
Frigga drew a sharp and audible breath. Thor felt a pain in his chest.   
  
So their father did see Loki as a threat. A  _great evil._  
  
"I cannot allow it," he said, shaking his head. "I cannot permit you, even in your righteous desires, to take our men to Midgard. The mortals are far too fragile for this. They are best left in the hands of you and your friends."  
  
"But we cannot fight an enemy," Thor immediately hated himself for letting that word slide across his tongue, "who will not confront us head on! We cannot fight phantoms in the dark!"  
  
Odin raised a hand. "You are right." He walked along the length of the table. "But you forget: Your brother is as cunning as he is eager. It will not be long before he returns to you, my son. Perhaps even lets slip something of great importance from that silver tongue."  
  
Thor breathed deeply, nodding his head in muted acceptance. Loki was patient, this he knew. But he had also seen that, when his brother wanted something so dearly, he would spin his lies so thick that he not see a way out of them himself. Much like the way he had when Thor had been told that their father had died; their mother had forbidden his return. He detested the thought, but Loki would, undoubtedly, become a victim of his own designs. Thor only hoped he would relent before the end of this twisted game had chance to come.   
  
"What of the Casket?" he prodded. "Father, have you any idea what Loki plans to do with it?"  
  
The Allfather turned to him, his good eye glazed over. "I do not."  
  
As Thor sat down again, he pressed his head into his hands in mourning. He had expected anger to be his father's companion in this discussion.   
  
He had not anticipated the pain of a father whose son had gone so far astray.   
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
He had not been known among the Aesir for strength and heft in battle, but for his cunning, his lightness of foot, his skill as a tactician. And so easily was it demonstrated, even among the sharp grounds of the frost world, the Jotunns seeking to drag him down in naught but blood. They fell one by one at the wayside, causing him to think several steps ahead so as not to lose his footing upon the corpses. Like their blue-gray skin, they seemed to bleed the color of the night sky, if not darker, the pools beneath their gaping wounds shining in the light of Jotunheim's darkened sun.  
  
Loki had given them time, days, to consider his offer, but, upon his return, he found that their king had not taken kindly to his last response, citing it as but another trick by the Son of Odin, lurching towards him with the same ferocity that had greeted Loki and the others upon their last little venture into this frozen hell. As such, they had forced his hand, his imitations darting about the grim landscape as the giants sought his life, one of the elder warriors easily stating that the invasion of their ritual all those years ago would finally be corrected.   
  
"The runt  _will_  be sacrificed," he had said.   
  
It brought the trickster a great deal of satisfaction to bring the brute to his knees and ram a blade deftly through his throat. The only downside to such a kill was that his hands were now soiled with blood that spilled like oil.   
  
"Will you not reconsider my offer?!" Loki jeered, dissipating into the snow laden air, the king watching him with hatred. "What I ask is but a token..." Another giant fell with a bellow, the removal of its head bringing an end to the wretched sound. "...when weighed against your beloved Casket; your power!"  
  
The Jotunns were foolish creatures, perhaps even more so than Thor, seeking to disembowel whatever being set foot into their hapless realm, even were it as a means of peace, a promise of redemption for Jotunheim and her people. Yet, he couldn't bring himself to truly care that the monsters who had abandoned him were falling dead at his feet. They would suffice, for now, as a sort of practice for him. Mere substitutes for the way he would cause beloved Odin to writhe and fall.  
  
It seemed to slowly dawn upon their king that it was wise to concede to the god's wishes. Though, the way the giant eyed him so hungrily, Loki expected a knife between the ribs.   
  
"You will bring the Casket to me, Asgardian," and he approached, hand raised so as to quell the others. He knelt low so that they saw eye-to-eye. "You will bring it now."  
  
Loki masked a grin, bowing his head slightly as the knives in his hands were swept away like dust into the air. "Of course. But, a question first, if I may."  
  
The giant remained silent.   
  
"I find it only appropriate that, as you know who and what I am, I be granted the same respect." They eyed one another carefully. "Do tell me: What are you called?"  
  
The Jotunn king stood tall, his eyes proud and focused. "I am Býleistr."  
  
"I see," the trickster murmured, looking thoughtful. "And, dare I ask, are you the son of your predecessor?"  
  
A nod. "I am."  
  
Loki smiled, bowing slightly. "In that case, I shall retrieve your Casket, oh, King, and have it returned to your temple by the morrow."  
  
Býleistr seemed to accept these words, motioning for the giants to let pass the God of Mischief.   
  
As he went, clothes stained deep with the loathsome Jotunn blood, the prince of lies played the remainder of this act within his mind, deeply satisfied with the results. Were it to go according to his design, as it had thus far, come the following morning, the Jotunns would not resist him, would no longer pose a distraction nor a threat. Rather, they would bow before him in their own blood, and recognize him as their king.  
  
Slipping through the seam of his spell, Loki could only smile to himself, the branches of the Great Tree taking him slyly back to Midgard.


	12. Methods

Through the branches of the Great Tree, the God of Lies had taken a purposeful detour, slipping through the magicked walls that protected dear Odin's palace, venturing through the bright gardens that were, aside from himself and Thor, his mother's pride and joy. The sights, the sounds, the smells, were all the same, save the view of the damaged petals of her flowers lingering across the grounds in shreds. She had been here, that much was clear, perhaps for days on end. Perhaps she had come because she was reminded of him in this place; of the way he used to seek her attention by asking for her to read to him out in the warmth of the green garden.   
  
Thor had never appreciated such things, preferring to be schooled by their father in the ways of war, taught to wield a blade like a beast. His mother had taught him spells instead, granted him a variety of old tomes and scrolls from her beloved library. Literature that, to Loki, had meant far more than a keepsake vial of a slain enemy's blood.   
  
Those books had never been damaged under his watch, though Sif and the others had often taken them from him, mocking him while they ran through the palace grounds, causing him to swear and scream until his small face had nearly turned blue.   
  
He allowed himself a seat upon a fountainhead, watching with mild interest as the water flowed through the small marbled canals that had been set in a pattern throughout the garden. At times, he had asked his mother her permission to practice here, to see if he could produce gleaming goldfish in the waters, and she had always approved. Loki smiled at the memory of his first successful spell, watching as a fish had appeared with rainbow scales, swimming eagerly against the fountain's powerful current.   
  
The prince knew full and well that he had no real purpose in coming, save the naive hope that his mother would be wide awake, perhaps looking over her garden from the lofty balcony above. He chanced a glance upward, looking to the balustrades of her chamber's balcony, mildly disappointed when he did not find her watching over him with relief.   
  
A sigh slipped through his nostrils and he turned on a heel, trying to satisfy himself with the knowledge that it was for the best that they did not see each other. For, while dear Frigga could keep secrets far better than any other, Loki did not desire the sting that would come when he departed, leaving her behind with yet another fracture in her tender heart.   
  
He brushed past a bed of flowers, beaming brightly with all its many colors in the silver light, a hand straying down to graze the petals of a few as he walked slowly by.   
  
With a wave of his hand, the seam leading into Yggdrasil's branches parted, as though he had gone and rent a silk curtain roughly in two.   
  
"You leave without even a goodbye?" she said, standing in her night robes behind him.   
  
Loki said nothing, wrestling with both the pleasure that she had noticed him, and the disappointment in himself for being so damned careless. He did not turn to face her, leaving Frigga to sweep her arms over him from behind, his head turning just enough to catch sight of her long, curled hair from the corner of his leering eye.   
  
His body stiffened, if only involuntarily, and she seemed to sense the tension, easing off and coming around to look him in the eye, her own hand far too easily vanquishing the pathway that would steal him away once again. This notion made him wonder if she, too, could open the unseen gateway between the Nine Realms. It certainly would have explained how he had picked up such a gift.   
  
Her hands, warm from tending a fire indoors, framed the sides of his face. His eyes closed, somewhat ashamed to look at his mother in all her radiance, by the very fact that she could allow herself to touch so vile a monstrosity.   
  
In all the nights he'd spent lying wide awake, he had never been able to forget the words his brother had spoken all that time ago; the words he had thrust at Odin on that day.  
  
 _"When I am king, I'll hunt the monsters down and slay them all!"_  
  
 _"I... I am the monster parents tell their children about at night..."_  
  
Such a dark realization. And yet, here he was, come straight from Jotunheim, seeking to utilize the filth and blood that pulsed beneath his skin. For now, it was disgraceful. But, when the ends finally justified his means, he would surely look back at all this and find it well worth the trouble, the scourge of hell that he had, for but a moment, embraced with a willingness.  
  
He sought to push her away, leave Frigga in her misery and hope that, maybe, she would take to him just as Odin had; looking down upon him, hating him, casting him aside as her son. Were she to do such a thing, he would have no more reason to dwell fondly upon Asgard; only seek to destroy it. He would no longer have ties, weakness, with which his enemies could seek to bind his ever rotting heart.   
  
The queen spoke not a word, slipping her fingers into his and leading him, as he had once done with her, down the winding garden steps to where the lake water lapped hungrily against the pavement. She tugged gently on his arm, a silent invitation for him to join in her perch upon the steps as she stared out across the water, fondly watching the rippling reflection of the moon over the mountaintops.   
  
It was with reluctance that he did so, slouching over to rest forearms upon his knees, abruptly numb to the fact that she had taken to running her fingers gently through his hair. Loki watched the moon as she did, though with great empathy.   
  
 _The only thing that the moon fears, is the infinite glory of the sun._  
  
Himself and Thor.   
  
"Will you stay?" she said, leaning close to his ear.   
  
Loki could not bring himself to move, only to release a soft breath from parted lips. "No."   
  
Frigga should have shied away or clung to him, begging that he give up his war and return home to her. But she did not. She pulled him close, the beating of her steady heart warm in his ear as she smiled through her voice.   
  
"But you did come."  
  
"To see you," he affirmed. "Though I had no hope..."  
  
"You did." She saw right through him and his lies. "You wanted this."  
  
He had missed her dearly, wanted to see her almost every day that he'd been gone. Even to the point of almost wishing that things were the way they had been before, prior to the war he'd chosen to wage against his father, his brother. But not nearly enough to give in now. Loki was far too stubborn for that; far too clever than to foolishly believe that his family ties could be anything but what they were now.   
  
Frigga was allowed to hold him, coddle him, her voice sweet and quiet as she sang the old war songs. Tales set to tune of his father's victories, the ones he had sought to hear when he had been just a boy, still small enough to stretch his arms only to her waist and climb joyously into her lap on the nights wherein the storms would rage. She had always been his great comfort, his haven. And now that he was grown, likely branded enemy of Asgard, she was, save for this moment, taken from him.   
  
"Is my brother here?" The words tasted sour on his tongue.   
  
"He is."  
  
The thought struck him, slipping into Thor's chamber so as to do away with him, leave the Avengers short of the one power that, as a whole, perhaps outweighed their own. He entertained the though, imagining the snow white of Thor's bed sheets as they were stained with his color, with the deep, running red of his precious blood. Could he only accomplish that much, perhaps Loki would concede to the Allfather, and live the remainder of his years with the great satisfaction that he had killed the only true Son of Odin.   
  
He stood, leaving her in a fluid motion, turning to walk back up the steps to the point where the branches called to him. His hand parted the seam again, the starry atmosphere of deep space leering back at him, the branches seeming to coil around his ankles as they beckoned, seeking to return him to Midgard.   
  
"I know what you seek," Frigga whispered, having followed after him. "I beg that you not go through with it, my son."  
  
Loki looked to her, the beating of his heart becoming the rhythm of his war drums. He took her hand and she leaned herself against him, her body feeling so much smaller than it ever had. It was almost a damned shame that time had forced him to mature. It seemed so wrong for his mother, his protector, to appear weaker than himself.   
  
He raised the hand to his lips, a sincere gesture, and Frigga bit down on her tongue inside her mouth.  
  
"I do love you," she said, their hands falling apart. "That, I can never stop. You are my son, Loki."  
  
Another moment was not spared on her, his feet moving to step upon the unseen pathway, gently carrying him away from Asgard. From her.  
  
"Yes," he whispered as the hole closed between them. " _Your_  son. And  _only yours_."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Pepper sighed as hot water ran over her hands in the bathroom, the smell of soap wafting through the air with the tiny bubbles. Tony had said very little to her all night, seemingly obsessed with trying to determine just how to get back at Thor's brother for harassing her. He'd thrown a bit of a fit earlier, griping that "Sparky" wasn't answering his damned phone, to which Pepper explained that, even had Thor taken it with him back to Asgard, it didn't seem likely that the gods had any cell towers or companies there.   
  
After that, he'd kept his thoughts to himself entirely.   
  
It had come back to nag at her, the thought of speaking to Tony about children, following the sudden appearance of a wildly popular YouTube video of the Iron Man carrying sobbing toddlers from the wreckage of the subway collapse.  
  
"Pepper?"   
  
She perked up, hearing his voice directed towards her after so many hours. Hurriedly, she splashed water on her face, trying to appear as though she had not been on the brink of tears, dried her hands, and darted out into the suite's living room where Tony sat, the screen of his computer cutting through the dark.   
  
He turned to face her, looking more than tired himself. "Be a doll and get me something to drink, would you?"  
  
Pepper did not nod, did not say a word to him as she shuffled into the kitchen for a glass, filling it up with cool water and a couple ice cubes before returning to his side, settling the drink upon the glass table as his eyes flitted about the letters on the screen.   
  
Tony maintained his focus, hand moving around the table in search until his fingers closed around the glass, lifting it to his lips and draining it.   
  
"Thanks."  
  
She sat down in the chair opposite him and pouted in silence, thinking that she should have made him go get his own damned glass of water. That way, at least, he would have asked why she had her panties in such a bunch.   
  
"What's wrong, princess?" he murmured, still facing forward. "You allergic to me now?"  
  
Pepper grimaced, taking to her feet as she leaned over the table, slapping the laptop shut and pulling it to her chest, sorely temped to set it on the chair and sit on it. Tony's eyes widened as he complained, wanting to know what in the hell her problem was, as he was trying to get some work done.   
  
"You're ignoring me!"   
  
He shrugged and replied indignantly, "I am not! I'm focused on nothing but you! Why do you think I'm looking for this guy, huh? Because I'm eager to know if his fancy jacket is a Calvin Klein?"  
  
Pepper did not appreciate the sarcasm.   
  
"He's a  _god_ , Tony! How do you expect to find a god?!"   
  
She would have included fighting Loki in that response, but it seemed best that she didn't, as the Avengers had managed to incapacitate him once before. Even so, she stared at him with much the same irritation that he held, fingers curling tighter around the edges of the thin computer.   
  
Tony didn't respond to her question, but sat back in his seat, seeming to mull it over. He was a genius, certainly, but he had a bad habit of not looking through the most important parts of various situations. That, and he was still somewhat inconsiderate when it came to letting Rhodey know that he was all right. Just a bit, though.   
  
Pepper laid the laptop on the chair, moving around the table to push Tony's away as she sat on the arm. "I have to talk to you."  
  
He nodded, the glasses being pulled from the bridge of his nose as he folded them up and placed them on the table. "Okay, shoot."  
  
They sat together for a bit as Pepper collected her thoughts, attempting to sort them into little folders and categories so that the possibly testy subject wouldn't come out as a great, big, tumbling mess. She reached for Tony's glass, placing it against her lips and easily draining it, the ice cubes clinking together as she set it down again.   
  
"Tony, I..." His hand reached up to gently brush hair out of her eyes, and Pepper sighed, promptly blurting it out: "How do you feel about kids?"  
  
Tony stopped, staring at her for a moment through the dark before giving her a slow shrug. "I dunno. They're okay, I guess. Not bad. Why?"  
  
"I was thinking that maybe we... I mean, I've always wanted..."  
  
Pepper was taken aback as he laughed, pulling her face to his to kiss her forehead. "That's what you've been worried about?" He smiled. "So, while I'm out digging through bloody rubble and you're being attacked by a god, you worry about whether or not I'm gonna be pissed because you decided that you want kids?"  
  
It really did seem silly when he put it like that. Especially the part about being attacked by Loki, as she really had kept her mind on kids to put herself more at ease.   
  
"You're not mad?"  
  
"No, I'm not mad! Why the hell would I be mad?!"  
  
Another excellent point made by the great Tony Stark.   
  
"So..."  
  
His features softened into sincerity. "Pepper, you should know by now that, whatever the hell you want in this world is yours."  
  
Pepper beamed, throwing her arms around him. "I can't wait to go look at baby clothes."  
  
"Er, I think we should wait until there's actually a baby in the room..."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Natasha had ditched Clint following the third hour of his playing sharpshooter, as she didn't want to spend all night watching, leaving a quick note on his bag so that he wouldn't be disturbed. She had slipped into the elevator and inserted her key, stepping out on the ground floor and trying to appear as though she were just another tired client of a boring businessman heading home after a very late meeting. Seeing as no one on the streets paid her any mind, Natasha found herself very grateful that SHIELD's ground headquarters had been so easily disguised as naught but a seemingly-unprofessional loan office.   
  
She hailed a taxi, having decided that Clint ought to hang onto the car, stepping inside and handing the driver a few bills, asking that he take her to that corner cafe, and keep the change while he was at it. Following her last remark, Natasha noted that she had never seen a cab driver so eager to reach a destination before. She would have to play the "keep the change" card a little more often now.  
  
Even with people driving much slower than usual, thanks to the thick blanket falling from the sky, they arrived at the cafe in record time, the driver thanking Natasha and wishing her a happy holiday season. She did the same, and stepped out into the snow.   
  
It was strange that she'd never taken notice of the shop's name before, but there it was, blinking bright above the awning: Otter's Cafe.   
  
The assassin stepped inside and ordered tea that she knew she wasn't going to drink before leaving the line and settling back into the same table as before. It was a bit chilly by the window, but with the heated cup that would soon reach her and the coat thrown over her shoulders, Natasha decided that she would be fine.   
  
There were few people inside, just a young college couple laughing together and exchanging text messages across the table. It made her smile, though the idea of texting while in the same room as one's partner seemed rather silly. However, it was appropriate if the things they were discussing were not at all meant for public ears.   
  
Her order number was called, and Natasha stood, hurrying to the counter and thanking the man before turning and taking her seat again.   
  
The bell on the door went off as she stared deep into the cup, curious as to whether or not this was the same brand of tea that the smarmy God of Mischief seemed to be so damned fond of. She lifted it to her lips, the warm liquid running down her throat and heating her from the inside out. Natasha smiled gently to herself. Tea with honey didn't seem quite as bad as she'd previously thought.   
  
"I thought you took your coffee black."  
  
She looked up and saw him, the foam cup held in his hand and a scarf hanging over his shoulders as he peered down at her, slipping into the opposite seat without so much as permission. That was one of the things she detested about Loki. He did whatever the hell he wanted.   
  
"Didn't think gods were into coffee," she retorted, taking another drink.  
  
He looked at her with that smile, shaking his head lightly, ignoring the statement. "What are you doing out in the cold all alone, Natasha? Tired of Barton, are we?"  
  
Her blood boiled as Clint's name rolled off his forked tongue. He hadn't any right to speak about her partner like that, let alone at all. Not after the things he'd done. So she sneered at him, taking another long drink before setting her own cup on the table, silently noting that Loki hadn't even touched his.   
  
"If you must know, he's occupied at the moment. Not that it's any of your business, devil."  
  
Her turn to name-calling seemed to satisfy him more. Or, perhaps he just appreciated being recognized as what he was.   
  
Loki stood and offered his hand as more people steadily streamed into the cafe. "It's becoming rather crowded in here," he said, disdain in his tone. "Would you care if we continued this conversation elsewhere?"  
  
Natasha stared at him, the hand beneath the table eager to reach down and curl around the edge of her seat. She didn't trust him, never had, and didn't have any plans to at any point in the future. And yet, here he was, acting as though they were proper acquaintances or even friends, possessing the audacity to suggest that they go somewhere out of the public eye.   
  
"No tricks," he added.  
  
Against her better judgment, she nodded, pulling on her gloves and sweeping past him and out the door, ignoring him almost entirely.   
  
As she walked, Natasha knew he was right on her heels, probably still smiling like the pretentious bastard they both knew him to be. He matched her pace, a hand resting on her arm in an almost caring manner as he sped up, leading her around the corner and into the snowy park, wiping down a bench before seating himself.   
  
It was just a ruse, she reminded himself. He was a devil; incapable of genuine affection, his being absent of even a conscience.   
  
"What the hell do you want, liar?" she spat, seating herself as far from him as possible. "I'm tired, and I'd like to go home."   
  
Natasha then half-expected him to offer himself as an escort.  
  
"You are a fascinating woman, Natasha Romanoff," he purred, watching her with those bright eyes. "And very little fascinates me in this realm."  
  
So what? The assassin didn't give a damn about his opinion of her, let alone that she interested him. Though it certainly was reason to worry, as Loki seemed to continuously seek her out.   
  
"I find you to be a pompous bastard," she snapped, her tea forgotten beside her as she leaned over on the bench. "And few people are irritating enough to earn such a title. Those who have are already dead."  
  
He laughed and she sneered.   
  
"Are you threatening me, Agent Romanoff?" he chuckled, attempting to hide a smile with his hand. "I am a  _god_."  
  
"You're also a fool to seek me out like this. It's really starting to grate on my last nerve."  
  
"Does the lady expect an apology?"  
  
Natasha had the sneaking suspicion that the word "lady" was meant to be a joke. She wanted to strangle him.   
  
Loki rubbed his bare hands together, seemingly unperturbed by the chilly weather as he took her arm, pulling her quickly to his side. The assassin's eyes widened as he peered into her eyes, pleasantly amused.   
  
He was right there, right in her face, waiting for her to speak, shove him away, even strike him as they both knew she wanted to. Were he not a god, a natural liar, some damned creature what ought to have surfaced from the depths of hell, perhaps she would have found the moment soothing, welcoming his fingers curling around her arm, brushing the hair above her ear.   
  
The Black Widow gasped and Loki settled on top of her, silently moaning as he forced his tongue between her parted lips, his mouth inviting as his warm hands framed her face. She felt the remaining snow on the bench slipping down her coat, forgotten as she fought to find a means with which to force him away.   
  
Her mind spun as she found herself returning the gesture, her hand scrabbling up his shoulder to knot her fingers hard in his dark hair. He snarled at her, Natasha's other hand moving up her own leg, seeking entrance to the pocket of her black coat. She waited, thin fingers closing around the narrow handle as the devil bit her, laughing at the back of his throat.   
  
How long they went on, his hot breath in her mouth, Natasha did not know, but it stopped as she momentarily settled the palm of her hand against his chest, pulling back and driving the blade between his ribs.   
  
Loki stiffened, giving the assassin the opening she needed to flip him off the bench and into the snow drift, pinning his arms with her knees and giving the knife a twist, feeling bone crack beneath her hand as she pushed down, trembling. His diaphragm tensed beneath her weight, and he spat, blood on his teeth as the dark red stain appeared through the fabric of his shirt.   
  
"And you call me a devil," he teased, leering up at her with satisfaction. "Well played. But I already told you, Natasha: You can't kill a god."  
  
"Your people believe in Valhalla," she said, recalling the history lesson Thor had given her some months ago, "the hall of the slain, where warriors go to seek eternal respite. That proves you're capable of death."  
  
Loki jeered at her, as if to say that it proved nothing, Natasha's hand sliding to wrap around his pale throat. "Do you intend to kill me?"  
  
He was gone from beneath her, his blood clinging to her fingertips as Natasha looked up, angered to see him standing so proudly before her. The heartless devil showed no sign of pain as his fingers played at the bloodied handle, giving it a sharp tug and a glance before tossing it into the snow beside her. Loki seemed far more bothered by the fact that he had a hole in his shirt.   
  
"I  _will_  kill you," the Black Widow hissed, taking to her feet. "Whatever manner of creature you may be."  
  
"God," he said pointedly. Surely, Loki never tired of reminding her. He turned away, peering back at her over his shoulder as he walked, mocking her. "As many times as you wish, you are certainly welcome to seek my life, mortal. It surely makes for an interesting game."  
  
Natasha growled as he slipped away, seeming to vanish with the air. She plucked the blade from beneath the bench, shoving it angrily into her pocket.  
  
"Damn you, Loki," she murmured. "Be you god or not, I swear to kill you..."


	13. Frostbite

In the wee hours of the dawn the branches took him, hurriedly, through the emptiness of space. Though he'd dawdled for a time even as he had held the Casket, very much enjoying the idea that dear Agent Romanoff believed herself to be on par with a god. While she was wrong, her attempt to kill him could not have been more flattering.   
  
Loki's first steps back into Jotunheim were relatively unpleasant. A group of the mammoth creatures awaiting his return, as though they'd determined just where the atmosphere would split to grant entry. They led him in silence, each casting him a dark and questioning glance at one point or another. The Casket belonged in the temple, and thus they had been sent as an escort and a guard, to prevent the God of Mischief from going back on his word to return it to their king.   
  
To be sure, Loki was well versed in the ways of deception, the proof of his greatest triumph, that over Odin, sitting cold and heavy in his hands. But he did not break promises; did not give and bend his word. They were two different things, lying and breaking promises. As with most beings, the first was intentional. The second, however, was often seen as little more than an accident. And Loki did not make those kinds of mistakes.   
  
The prince had always had every intention of returning their treasure to the temple, ensuring that Jotunheim, in one way or another, would prosper. But that was still a part of the game: He had never elaborated any further in his promise to Býleistr; had only said what he had meant.   
  
Dear Jotunheim would hold close her Casket again.  
  
The temple was shoddy and run-down, the ceilings broken open to the sight of the darkened sky, icicles and snowflakes easily falling through. Columns were cracked and flaking, others having been pulled down all together. There were no long and winding corridors as he had expected, though they must have existed at some point in the realm's history, just gaping holes in the walls that served as the temple's archways, leading all too easily into the heart of the great, sculpted structure.   
  
Within lay an alter, set firm at the room's center, Býleistr standing haughtily before it. Flame flickered in massive silver torches, those too run-down from years of being ignored. Dried blood, now a deep shade of frozen brown, lay upon the floors, appearing to have run right off the altar itself.   
  
Loki looked up, just past the giant's head, his brow creasing at the sight of a massive sculpture. Likely that of their false god.   
  
The giants stopped around him, standing at the attention of their king. Loki played well with his sincerity, stepping forward to unveil the Casket in his arms, eyes moving towards the pedestal upon which it would return.   
  
Býleistr reached for it, and Loki stepped back.   
  
"Surely, after all the trouble I've gone through to return it to Jotunheim, his Majesty wouldn't begrudge me a few moments alone."  
  
The giant eyed him warily, gaze shifting to his followers who quickly departed the room, storming through the temple to man their positions outside. Loki tilted his head when their footsteps faded, easily relinquishing the Casket to Býleistr.   
  
For several minutes, the giant held the relic in his hands, eyes lighting up as it began to glow a pale blue, his dark lips curling up in a grin. Býleistr walked with a sort of reverence to the pedestal, almost kneeling as he murmured in the Jotunn's dead language, settling the Casket into place and stepping back, seemingly sated.   
  
"You have betrayed your people, Asgardian."  
  
The prince closed his eyes deliberately, reminding himself that to laugh would be to out himself. "I know."  
  
He turned to Loki. "You have brought death upon him."  
  
The devil looked to him. "I know."  
  
Býleistr moved around the alter with a slow gait, intentional, coming to stand at its steps as he towered over the god. They said nothing for a time, each mind working furiously to gauge the other. Testing the giant, Loki took a step back. The king took two forward.   
  
"You are pleased, Little Prince."  
  
Loki nodded, a faint smile upon his face. "With what, exactly?"  
  
"You seek the death of Odin, the end of Asgard."  
  
"Ah. Then yes."   
  
Býleistr clenched a fist, the frost of his arm spinning itself into a blade as he shifted, holding it steadily behind his back. Loki, stepping around him and up to the altar, pretended not to notice.   
  
"You are a traitor to your people, a snake."  
  
"That I am." He tried not to sound so proud of it.  
  
The god's fingers grazed the smooth granite of the altar. Just large enough for an infant to be slain, but still strong enough for a man to be laid upon it for torture, evisceration, perhaps even have his heart cut out and given to their false gods like in the ancient mortal rituals. Though, seeing the impressive stains of blood that had once dribbled across the cold stone, Loki suspected that the Jotunns had devised such punishments themselves many centuries ago.   
  
He walked slowly around the altar, coming to rest before the Casket's pedestal, his eyes falling upon the carving of the nonexistent Jotunn god. The prince leaned forward, feeling the king's eyes as he watched, his hands grazing the relic, the cold sweeping through his veins for but a moment.  
  
"They shall be sacrificed," Býleistr murmured, sounding pleased. "To Jotunheim will we bring the Allfather, his kin. And here, in our temple, will we bleed them unto our god."  
  
Loki stirred, thinking carefully upon those words. The giant had said "kin," implying that the whole of the House of Odin would be slain, laid bare upon this filthy slab of stone and tortured until their throats ran like blood with the sound of their screams.  
  
It disgusted him.  
  
Neither Odin nor Thor would be slain in so vile a place as this. They would die at his hand.  
  
And his mother... She would not be touched.  
  
"You may have the Allfather," he lied, turning on his heel. "The others shall be left to me."  
  
The giant crossed the room, towering over the prince with a sneer. "The Asgardians will pay for these years of humiliation. The House of Odin will fall to Jotunheim." Býleistr crouched, his eyes level with Loki's. "Unless the God of Mischief still loves...  _her_."  
  
They had known about Frigga, had always known, his affection for her given away willingly in his instruction to for the giants to stay away from all but the relic chamber; in his hesitation to flee Asgard; in his demands to Laufey that, upon entering Odin's chamber, the Lady Frigga be left alive. Loki had not wished to hurt her any more than needed, any more than he already had, and had thus taken great care to ensure her safety.   
  
And the Jotunns had utilized that weakness.  
  
The blade that appeared in his hand thrust upward with a twist, a hollow moan escaping the parted lips of the beast slumped over upon his knees. Loki had never intended for the Jotunn to live; had planned the deaths of all those who had stemmed from Laufey's bloodline to begin with. But the bastard's last remark had led him to such unseemly violence, the likes of which nagged at the back of his skull, insisting the beast be laid down and sacrificed at his own damned altar.   
  
But he would not allow himself to fall so far as these primitive beasts.  
  
"Only one house falls tonight," the devil murmured, a hand clapped firmly over the giant's bloodied mouth. "The house of Laufey."  
  
Býleistr choked in his hold, the king moving his head enough to slip away from Loki's hand.   
  
"But you.." he heaved, "You are of my father's house."  
  
Loki sneered at the remark, driving another knife through the giant's chest, blood spewing out the wound that opened in his back, spine severed.   
  
"Surely, you misunderstand, oh, King. My birth does not define me. Now die, and know that your death did not come at the hand of the Son of Odin, nor the Son of Laufey." He leaned in close, venom on his forked tongue. "Your death came by the hand of the  _God of Mischief._ "


	14. Between Heaven And Hell

He shifted, eye opening, found himself flat on his back, and sat up. It was a room, but not. There was no door as he ran his hands along the walls, from the top to the bottom. A table with which to stand on, but no lights on the ceiling, no light switch. No carpet on the floor beneath his feet, only hard, cold pavement.   
  
The last thing he could recall was a flash of light, a voice ringing in his ears. He'd been fuming then, wondering how in the hell things could have gotten so bad so fast. They'd taken him out before, hadn't they? Beaten down his useless pride and dragged him back to his realm for imprisonment, punishment. And yet, he had come back, harassing them all as he wandered the city like it was his own.   
  
He hadn't told the team that the agents of SHIELD, namely Hill, had been dispatched to the sites of the visions long before they'd been called into New York. They had found him weeks before, watching, waiting, wondering when and where and why he'd choose to play this game again. It had bothered him for all that time, his uneasiness coming out in the meeting with threats and orders.   
  
And it made him wonder: Had he said something about the devil sooner, would he still be trapped in here? Wherever the hell "here" was.   
  
A doorway seemed to open at the thought, in the wall opposite his position. It was not the outdoors, the cold streets of the great city, nor the long hallways of SHIELD's ground headquarters. It was not a joke, not a video projection, nor a hallucination on his part. It seemed to be the cold of space, holding him high as this little prison slid closer to a blue planet, as though he were just a kite on a string.   
  
He flew then, body slammed against the wall as the room spun, dragging it until it slammed into the ground, the darkness of the walls, the ceiling, the floor, shattered into pieces, leaving him cold upon a snow covered ground. Lifting his head, he was stranded, nearly in the dark again. A cold sun lingered in the sky, offering up no warmth.   
  
"I suppose I should welcome you," a voice crooned, and Fury snarled.   
  
He hated that voice.   
  
But there was no one with him on the desolate landscape. Just jagged rocks of ice, vague remnants of large buildings, perhaps a palace, that had once stood tall. Snow and hail fell, chilling him in less time than that of an Earthly winter.   
  
They convened around him then, appearing out of nowhere, believably the giants that had been seen in the city, with their dark markings, blue-gray skin and bleeding red eyes. They watched him, as though he were naught but a specimen under a microscope, or a game for their own amusement. But they did not smile, did not make move to touch him, aid him, nothing. They stood still, like ice sculptures, and watched.  
  
Fury saw him then, that ridiculous-looking reindeer helmet on his head, that damned smile on his face as he bowed, mockingly.  
  
"What do think?" Loki paced, and Fury could feel the frost building on his brow. "Not particularly attractive creatures, but they are capable."  
  
"Frost Giants."  
  
Loki scowled. "You've had a history lesson from my brother, no doubt." He must have wanted the beasts to be more of a surprise. "If it helps at all, you are not on Jotunheim, Director Fury."  
  
The darkened landscape began to warp, the giants vanishing, the gray sun replaced by a bright light that shone in Fury's face. He was no longer on the ground, but sitting up, perhaps in a chair, with his hands bound. The blur in his vision steadily wore off, the white light beginning to give him a headache as he recognized the glass cage in which he sat. It was the same cage, if not a replica, of the one on board the helicarrier.  
  
He frowned, but his stomach dropped like a stone.   
  
The god pressed a hand to the glass, looking smug. He motioned to Fury, and then to himself.  
  
" _Ant. Boot._ "  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Jane's eyes closed as the water ran down the curve of her back, shampoo streaming down the drain. As her hand closed around the tap, the other reached through the curtain, taking hold of the towel and puling it back into the shower. She toweled off quickly before wrapping it around her head, reaching back out and feeling around on the counter for her bathrobe. The curtain slid open and Jane hopped out, hurriedly pulling it around herself, turning to stare into the mirror as she took her toothbrush in her hand.  
  
This was the morning of the eighth day since Thor had gone home to Asgard, and, aside from looking over the SHIELD files, watching YouTube videos, and talking with Darcy on the phone, she was rather bored. She did not like the cold, having come from the middle of the desert where snow rarely fell, even in the depths of winter. So she stayed inside their hotel room, keeping warm with coffee and cocoa while wrapped tight in a blanket.   
  
But perhaps it wasn't the cold at all. Maybe she was just lonely, missing Thor.   
  
With teeth now brushed, Jane left the bathroom, turning off the light, slipping down the hall and into her room, the suitcase laid out upon her made up bed. Jane pulled out the first shirt she saw, teal blue and striped, and a pair of jeans, her feet moving under the bed to claim her slippers. She dressed quickly, struggling to keep the towel on her head as she pulled on the shirt, finally giving in and throwing the wet thing on the floor. From the doorknob, she grabbed a light sweater, draping it over her shoulders as she reclaimed the towel, carrying it and the robe to be deposited in the laundry chute.   
  
She shuffled out and into the kitchen, preparing the coffee maker before heading into the living room where she fell backwards onto the couch.   
  
What was Thor doing in Asgard? What was it like? Was it beautiful like the spring photos of the English country side? Were there tall buildings, palaces, adorning the skyline? And did it possess the same beauty as the Sandia Mountains when seen from the center of Albuquerque? Would she ever get to see it, meet his family, share in the joy of his home world?  
  
Jane's mind spun with questions, her phone vibrating on the table as Darcy's picture popped up. She reached over, sliding a finger across the screen, setting the call on speaker.  
  
"Oh, my  _God_ , Jane!" Darcy's voice said, cutting through the silence of the room. "I thought you'd died or something!"  
  
Normally, Jane would have smiled. But she didn't want to deal with Darcy and her over-dramatic tendencies. At least, not today.   
  
"Why's that, Darce?"  
  
"Uh,  _hello_! The subway collapsed!"  
  
Jane sighed. "I don't take the subway, Darcy. I don't even go outside. It's too cold."  
  
Her friend made an indignant sound, and Jane could almost see her crossing her arms. "Okay, so you and your cut boyfriend are flown out to New York City by SHIELD, you meet the Avengers,  _and_  you get to hang out with Tony fucking Stark?! Damn, Jane! You get to have all the fun, and you act like you're in prison!"  
  
Jane shrugged, rolling over so that her back faced the table. "Yeah, maybe..."  
  
She could hear Darcy shuffling papers, perhaps looking through a notebook, and the sound of a glass as it touched down on her friend's desk. "You okay?"  
  
"I'm just tired," she lied. Jane had gotten a good night's sleep, aside from having stayed up until one to read through the files again and again. And the nightmare. "I'm gonna go out and get something to eat, okay? I'll call you later."  
  
Darcy muttered a quiet, "Okay," before Jane reached over and hung up the phone.   
  
Really, she should have been taking advantage of the situation, not lounging around a boring hotel suite with nothing to do. She needed to get out, find something to do. Maybe see if Pepper or Natasha were available for a few hours.   
  
Pushing off the couch, Jane stood, taking the phone and tucking it into her pocket. She headed to the closet, where she had hung their coats, and, as she stared inside, hers easily dwarfed by Thor's, she missed him all over again.   
  
"Just go have some damn fun," she told herself, tugging on her coat.   
  
She fired off a few messages and headed back into the kitchen to fill her mug with coffee, suddenly pleased as both Natasha and Pepper said that they'd love to meet up for lunch, some sight-seeing, and even a movie. Jane smiled, remembering that, as she and Tony divided much of their time between here and Malibu, Pepper would know all the best places to eat and shop.   
  
The clock on the wall read at about ten-thirty, and Jane took a few minutes to drink her coffee and eat a bagel before heading back into the bedroom for gloves, a hat, and a scarf, rushing into bathroom to make sure that she looked presentable.   
  
In the wide bathroom mirror, Jane flinched, her eye immediately moving to the shower curtain. She had seen something, heard a sound. Fingers closed around the fabric of her sleeves, hugging herself as she stepped towards it, taking a trembling hand and swatting at the curtain, yanking it open. The shampoo bottle that she had left on the soap tray had toppled over.   
  
Jane stilled her heart, laughing quietly at her own fear, though it certainly wasn't funny at all. She'd had it consistently over the past several days, often more than once in a single night. At the most ungodly hours of the morning, she would wake, draped in a cold sweat, eyes scouring the room for any trace of the nightmare. As always, there was nothing.   
  
Nothing but the voice.   
  
 _"How precious... Now, how did you come about a pretty little pet like this one? Did she just happen to follow you home one day...?_ "  
  
 _Pet..._  
  
She brushed it off, pulled the phone from her pocket and told Pepper that she'd meet her down the street in just a few minutes.   
  
The key in hand, Jane left the bathroom and headed for the door, stepping out and locking it, giving the handle a quick check before turning to start off down the hallway when a hand grabbed her arm.  
  
"Hello, Jane."  
  
She froze, eyes wide and focused upon a single point, one of the potted plants at the end of the hallway, the key card slipping out from between her fingers, falling onto the floor. Jane sucked a breath in through her nose, listening, feeling, as he bent over, plucking the card from the carpet and offering it to her as though nothing had happened.   
  
When Jane didn't move, he tucked it away, taking hold of her arm, leading her quietly down the hall.   
  
"I've been thinking about you," he told her as an elderly couple passed them by, smiling. Jane didn't look at him. "More often than I should."  
  
He was lying to her, trying to scare her. Thor had told her about his tricks. So she held onto Thor's voice, kept the echo in her head:   
  
 _Loki always lies._  
  
"You are a beautiful woman, Jane Foster." They stepped into the stairwell. Still, she refused to look at him. Jane cringed as he brushed through the ends of her hair. "My brother is fortunate to have found you."  
  
Another lie. The way they had talked before, she had seen it in his eyes. He  _hated_  Thor.  
  
She could feel the smile as he breathed in her ear, " _Let's see him do it again, shall we?_ "  
  
"Don't touch me!" she challenged, shoving him away. Jane could feel the tears welling up behind her eyes, but she kept on. "You hurt me, you do anything to me, and he'll come... Thor will find me!"  
  
"He left you, Jane."  
  
Her brow furrowed, yanking her arm away from him, stepping back down a few stairs. He followed. "He came back! Thor promised he would, and he came back! But you... I saw the way you looked at him; I know. You've always been jealous of him, because you know you're not good enough!"  
  
His lip curled, grabbing hold of her again, fingers digging into her skin. Loki hissed, "I made a promise to my brother, Jane Foster." She could hear the soft grinding of his teeth in her ear. "Now that he's well out of the way... It's time I took care of you myself."


	15. The War Outside Our Door

"I don't understand..." Thor was nearly in tears, his bright blue eyes turning red around the edges as he paced. "Why wouldn't you tell me?"  
  
She had been avoiding him for the entirety of the day, easily piquing his curiosity. So he had followed her at a distance, asked guards and servants to inform him of her whereabouts, as he was growing increasingly worried. When word had reached him that she had spent time out by the lakeside, only to return to the palace, he had caught her, with a trembling hand, parting the doors that led into his brother's chambers.   
  
Now, she sat quietly upon the bed, her hand moving steadily across the green cover, trying to push him out of her mind as Thor paced busily about the wide room.  
  
"Mother." Frigga's head snapped up from her solemn reverie. "Why would you not tell me?"  
  
She looked right past him, eyes moving about the room as though she were watching little phantoms run about. A sad smile pulled at her lips.   
  
Her voice was but a whisper when it came. "I had feared..."  
  
The God of Thunder felt his heart pounding in his chest, hand coming to rest in hers as he settled down beside her. Loki had been here, in Asgard, had purposely sought out their mother, as if seeking guidance, comfort. Though the possibility had crossed his mind, Thor refused to believe that Loki would use her as a way to taunt him, threaten the realm. It tore at him, knowing that he was unable to understand his brother. To not know who he was and what he was doing was heartbreaking, for, as children, he had believed them to be that close.   
  
Perhaps that, too, had been a lie.   
  
"You feared I might kill him."  
  
He looked to her with tears in his gaze, and hers threw his words right out the window. Frigga gripped his strong hand more tightly, her fingers growing cold. Thor placed his other hand over hers and rubbed.   
  
"I do not believe he came just for me, my son," and, in her eyes, Thor could see her fears playing out:  
  
Loki, hanging like thick the shadows over his bed as he slept, that dark fire brimming in his bright eyes as he leaned over, held a knife to his brother's throat. A deft twist of his wrist, and the white sheets ran red, the younger god's fingers parting the flesh as if to get a better look at his handiwork. A devilish smile, a bloodied hand lifted to his face, and the most frighteningly satisfied expression one could wear.  
  
Thor swallowed, pulling himself from the vision that could very well have become truth.   
  
"I knew he sought your life, my son," she whispered, stroking the side of his face. "I begged him not to go through with it."  
  
The God of Thunder shook, heart racing in his chest, and leaned his head against his mother's shoulder. His brother's compassion for her, his mother's plea, had likely saved his life.   
  
The young god bowed his head, taking to his feet and sweeping to the balcony, the lush garden staring up at him. From this perch, he imagined his brother traversing the cobbled pathways in the darkness of that night, their mother slipping out of the palace to find him, reason with him. His gaze turned to the distant shape of the winding stairs, those that led down to the lake water. As boys, they would run down those steps on the hottest of days, followed swiftly by their friends. They would jump off the carved railings and into the water, laughing and playing and splashing one another until they hovered in the lake on their backs, small arms unable to keep them afloat any longer.   
  
"There is no doubt Loki holds the casket," Odin murmured as he entered, drawing Thor's immediate attention.   
  
The Allfather's gaze swept around the room, growing steadily more distressed with each step he took. He was not so angry as Loki was sure to believe.  
  
Thor swallowed. "Why? How?"  
  
The Allfather moved to seat himself beside Frogga, his eye turned up at the painted ceiling, watching as the chandelier swung gently. "Býleistr is dead. Murdered this morning within the Jotunns' temple."   
  
Thor flinched. "How do you know this?!" His voice was strained, rising steadily with his disbelief, his refusal. "How can you possibly believe that my brother...!"  
  
"The Gatekeeper has seen it." Odin clapped his gnarled hands together. "In the early hours of the dawn, Heimdall came to me, having seen... A most disturbing vision. No longer clouded from his eyes, your brother was in their temple, struck down their king, and took his place..."  
  
"Loki... is  _king_  of Jotunheim...?"  
  
"He has destroyed all stemming from the House of Laufey... And prepares for war against Asgard."  
  
Frigga cried aloud, a sound that struck the thunder god's ears like a blade scraping against polished marble. Thor bit his lip. Their roles had reversed, it seemed. For he, following his botched coronation, had intended to destroy the Jotunns, to make them pay for dishonoring the palace of his father. The desire had then shifted quickly to Loki following his banishment, his purpose for spilling their blood stemming from hatred, disgust, rather than pride.   
  
He had hated being the spawn of beasts.  
  
"Why would...?"  
  
What purpose could he have for taking control of the Jotunns, assaulting frail Midgard, threatening war against Asgard?  
  
"Your brother does not merely seek revenge for his humiliation," the Gatekeeper said, appearing in the doorway. "He has granted me vision of his methods."  
  
Thor stood straight. "Then tell us, Heimdall: What does my brother seek?!"  
  
"The Nine Realms, and all that lies beyond."  
  
The young god turned away, his mother's cries in his ears as Odin bellowed. It was treason, a total violation of the balance the Aesir had defended from the beginning. Was Loki so far gone that he would willingly disrupt the ways of the cosmos, bend it backwards until it split right in two? Thor slammed a hand against the edge of the balcony, seeming to rattle the water of the garden's fountains.  
  
Thor growled in growled in frustration.   
  
The Gatekeeper's golden eyes glazed over then, growing wide as a vision struck him, knocking him a few steps back as it ended suddenly.   
  
"What did you see?"  
  
Heimdall glanced to Odin and Frigga, quickly nodding to Thor. "Midgard."  
  
"What of Midgard?" Immediately, he feared the worst for his friends.   
  
"Your Jane Foster," the Gatekeeper said, and all eyes widened, "has been taken."  
  
"Where?!"  
  
"I know not." He bowed his head. "He has hidden her from me."  
  
Thor roared, pounding a fist against the wall, the room shaking.   
  
"You will return to Midgard at once," said Odin, and he nodded.  
  
With rage, fingers curled into his palms, and he leaned against the balcony's edge, voice low and broken as he whispered, "Loki..."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
"I already told you, Clint! It wasn't my fault!"  
  
The glass hit the floor and cracked as her hand slapped it from the table, the ice scattering and sliding across the room. Her face was red from shouting at him, from the fire that burned brightly in the fireplace, heating the room. Clint stood across from her, easily as upset as she, breathing heavily with his hands balled up into fists.   
  
He had been upset that she hadn't told him about her encounter with Loki at first, bothered that the first time he had heard about it had been with the others in the restaurant. Following the little "exchange" that had occurred only recently, Natasha had decided to right that first wrong, and bring Clint into the loop immediately. Though, when she had mentioned that the god had  _kissed her_ , the hawk had turned the discussion into a shouting match that easily rivaled those of politics.   
  
The way he looked at her now, he had already convinced himself that she had returned the gesture and enjoyed it, ignoring her even as she howled that she had feelings only for him. If nothing else, it was really pissing her off.   
  
"What am I supposed to believe, Nat?" he demanded, looking at her incredulously. "First you keep hidden from me the fact that he's been stalking you, and now you spring on me the this little story that the two of you got cozy and made out in Central Park!"   
  
Natasha turned away from him, raising her hands in defeat.   
  
"Screw it," she said, pulling on her boots. Clint only watched. "I'm done, you know that, Clint? I'm  _done._ "   
  
"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"  
  
The assassin stood at the closet door, yanking her coat on and throwing a scarf around her neck. "It means just that: I'm done." Natasha slammed the door, spinning on a heel to jab Clint in the chest. "I'm going out. And, when I come back, all your shit better be out of  _my house._ "  
  
She left him to digest that as she stormed out the door, turning back only to remind him that he'd better leave his damned key on the counter top, too.   
  
Natasha did not take the elevator to the lobby, opting instead to dart down the stairs, burn off energy in hopes that it would make her feel a bit better. But, even when she reached the ground floor, she was still seething, and headed out into the cold with a distinct scowl upon her face.   
  
Clint was positively irritating. A real pain in the ass, and she'd put up with all of his baggage in hopes that the two of them could be sincerely happy together. But he had ruined all of that with this jealousy, directing it towards a god who, Natasha was damned sure, only gave a shit about screwing with her head because her reactions as a human female, and one who had challenged him, were "fascinating."  
  
She spat at the thought, walking until she had no idea where she was without looking at street signs. The assassin took to a bus stop bench set just outside a book shop, settling down and watching as the metal beast screeched around the corning, coming to stop before her. She merely shook her head at the diver, as there were no other passengers at the site, and he pressed on, shutting the doors and heading off with a great cloud of black smoke bursting out of the tailpipe.   
  
Her phone buzzed in her pocket, and Natasha was sorely tempted to ignore it for fear that it might be Clint. She chanced a look at it anyway, noting Steve's number, and pressed the phone to her ear.   
  
"Now's not a good time, Steve," she said, a definite hardness to her voice. "If you don't want me to hang up, better make it sound important."  
  
The Captain didn't respond to that, his own tone level and no-nonsense as he said, "We found Fury."


	16. A Wilderness Of Tigers

The ivory of the keys seemed to glow beneath his fingertips, the woman manning the register by the violins doing her best not to smile brightly as the piano's voice hummed through the room. Obviously, she was eyeing him with interest, and the thought made him snicker. Mortals were so easy to charm. No wonder they died by the dozen. They trusted others far too easily. They would likely last longer if they'd adhered to the standards of old, believing that anyone could be a witch and servant of the devil.   
  
Well, maybe.   
  
After taking care of dear Jane, he'd come wandering back, hopeful that he could find something to occupy his attention long enough to keep him from slipping into extreme boredom while he awaited his brother's angry return. Surely Heimdall had informed them of his misdeeds. And, sitting here in this quaint little shop, he'd found it.   
  
She'd stop and stare at him periodically, blushing and quickly looking away the second his eyes moved towards her with a satisfied smirk. As a god, he couldn't fathom the idea of feeling anything genuine for a mortal, save a rare bit of admiration, but women like this were always looking for someone, anyone, to pay any kind of attention to them. Even if it didn't go any further than a polite greeting.   
  
They were so desperate.  
  
But, based on the way she watched him, clearly ignoring a mother and child as they asked for pricing on the violins, this one wasn't the sort of woman who'd just sit still and let an interesting man walk out the door without a word. If he left, she would surely follow.  
  
The door chimed, and he continued playing, the polished wood finish of the instrument shining in the light that came through the windows behind him.   
  
He heard the woman's voice, quiet and just above a whisper, murmuring incoherently before the register sounded, likely from her lack of attention to it as she leaned over to observe him like a giddy, love struck schoolgirl.   
  
"Doesn't sound much like you're much into Christmas carols."  
  
"War songs," Loki replied, a little too cheerily. He thought instantly of Odin, his mother's bedtime stories. "Tales of the great Odin's triumph."  
  
The assassin seemed rather content in standing over his shoulder, her hard eyes watching his hands fly across the keys. There was an intake of breath as she thought to say something, shutting her mouth after having thought better of it. Surely, she didn't want to offer a compliment, sincere or not. Clearly, she couldn't stand the idea of paying him any sort of kindness. Not after their last little venture in Central Park.   
  
"I do hope you've not come to stab me again," he said, a little louder than he needed to, and the woman, who had now taken to organizing sheet music, looked up.  
  
Natasha gave him a quick shove, taking a seat on the bench beside him, her eyes fixated on him as he kept on, refusing to look back at her until she had responded to his bait.   
  
The woman at the register eyed Natasha warily, with jealousy, and Loki snickered.  
  
"You set me up," she hissed, a hand on his shoulder as she hissed in his ear. "All that's happened, all the hell that's fallen upon this city, rests entirely on you. And you think you're just too good to give a damn."  
  
He laughed quietly, finding it rather difficult to keep playing when she was making this so damn easy. Giving in, Loki leaned forward on the piano, elbows resting on the white keys as he covered his pale eyes with a hand.   
  
"I take it dear Clinton didn't enjoy being kept in the loop."  
  
That must have been one hell of an argument they'd had.  
  
Natasha growled, raising her hand and delivering a hard blow to his jaw. The woman at the register seemed to seethe, and one of her coworkers quickly came and removed her from the area with a low, "It's none of your damn business!"  
  
All amusement was promptly lost, the god rolling his head as the ache steadily spread to bring little stars to burst behind his eyelids. He groaned, and gave the assassin a foul look.   
  
"That's three," he chided, recalling the previous two accounts with Pepper and Jane. "I've grown rather tired of you mortals and your disrespect towards your gods."  
  
Natasha leaned in. "You are not  _my god._ "  
  
"Clearly," Loki replied, the drumming in his teeth getting heavier.   
  
She grabbed him then, lifting him off the bench and to his feet, her hand knotted tightly in the front of his coat as she dragged him past the red-faced cashier, now restrained, and out the door, giving him another smack for good measure.   
  
There were no words to explain just how much he disliked being struck.   
  
They went quite a ways, pushing through crowds as she led him, easily drawing the attention of passersby who whispered, in not so hushed voices, about who was cheating on whom. It disgusted him to know that they thought him one of them, let alone the sort of man who'd go around breaking promises with desperate, lonely women.   
  
Natasha turned sharply, dragging him into an alley and shoving him hard against a nearby dumpster.   
  
"That was uncalled for," Loki snarled, and her forearm found itself shoved hard against his throat. She glowered at him. "I'm listening." The assassin put down more pressure. "I'm listening  _intently_."  
  
"Why did you kiss me?" The woman was direct and to the point. She looked utterly disgusted as the memory replayed itself in her head, and he knew that, more than anything, she was ashamed of herself. "Why?!"  
  
The god drew a breath in through his nose, looking her squarely in the eye. "To see what you'd do." The spider wasn't buying it. He relented. Spilling his guts, as she might have said. "It is the most basic of maneuvers to efficiently deal with multiple opponents, my dear: Divide and conquer. As you and the rest of your Avengers know, I am hopelessly outnumbered. And what better way to assure my own victory than to tear your little team apart at the seams?"  
  
It seemed to dawn on her then, his reasons for allowing her to see him that first morning, showing himself to a handful of the others, everything. It had all been a means with which to create conflict among them, separate them, ensure that their relationships would be strained were they to work together at all. For, with the Avengers in such discord, unable to function together as a single, solitary unit, they could not stop him. In the midst of the greatest war their planet had ever seen, they would be unable to look past their personal grievances, even with millions of lives at stake.   
  
He leered at her as if to say, "Don't you see?"  
  
A jingle sounded from Natasha's pocket then, her hand moving to fetch the phone as her eyes smoldered as she spat into the speaker. "What?!"   
  
She nodded once, still watching as he shifted, all too eager to get her arm off his windpipe so he could breathe properly  
  
Obviously, she was torn, conflicted, and it pleased Loki. Knowing he was the God of Lies, how could she trust him, even when he was telling the truth? How could she know that the paths she chose to walk weren't all part of his grand design, that he wasn't steering her in the direction he wanted her to go? How could she know that his shocking gesture hadn't meant anything to him, or, more importantly, that it didn't mean anything to  _her_?  
  
Still holding him, the assassin turned her head away, as if doing so would prevent him from hearing her conversation. But Loki didn't give a damn about the call. He already knew what it was about, where she had been going when she'd stumbled across him, and where she'd be taking him when she hung up.   
  
The phone was returned to her pocket, hand moving behind her back to draw a gun.   
  
"Clever bastard."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
"Nice to have you back." Fury rapped on the glass, dripping sarcasm that made it sound like he was choking on a melted cough drop. "We've missed you. Now, would you like a magazine while I take my time and decide just what to do with your sorry ass?"  
  
Tony raised an arm over his head as he stretched, groaning audibly at, what he assumed to be, the joke. It wasn't very good, to tell the truth. Sure, Fury got a second chance to lock a crazy demi-god in a glass cage like the last time, and yet he pulled the same stupid pun out of his ass. It was more than just pathetic.   
  
Besides, his "reindeer games" crack had been a hell of a lot better.   
  
The god had offered no resistance, but gone quietly into his transparent prison, smiling all the while. It was more than a little unnerving, especially considering Tony and his new found obsession, beating the living hell out of the trickster. As Pepper stood behind him, staring through the glass, Tony couldn't help thinking that the god's expression was meant to mock him. He had, after all, missed his presence in the suite by a few short minutes. The billionaire kicked himself. If only he'd headed back for his suit ten minutes earlier, he could have saved Pepper the shock of watching her life flash before her eyes nineteen stories off the ground.   
  
The collective of heroes stood quietly around the container, each sparing a moment to look at the others, the obvious tension suffocating. Banner had, of course, placed himself at the back of the room, nearest the stairs, while Clint and Natasha were visibly separated, the Black Widow not even bothering to recognize the fact that the hawk was there. Pepper leaned on Tony's shoulder, Fury seemed lost in thought, and Steve narrowed his gaze at the God of Mischief, arms crossed as he shook his head in disbelief.   
  
"I don't suppose you're going to threaten me with a thirty-thousand foot drop again, now, are you, Director?"  
  
Tony reached up and rubbed under his nose. Cocky bastard.   
  
Fury paced, a remote control the size of a flip phone held tightly in his hand, as if to flaunt the fact that he was the only one who could open the container. "Well, we are underground, aren't we?" he replied coolly.   
  
The god's smile only widened.   
  
When Tony turned and laid a hand on Steve's shoulder, the soldier's eyes shifted to him.   
  
"Now, tell me, Cap," and he motioned to Fury. "How the hell'd you find him again? Because, when I last checked my messages..." Tony held up his cell. "It didn't say. Care to explain?"  
  
Removing Tony's hand, Steve brushed the imaginary contamination off his shoulder, and raised his head, nodding to Clint. "I didn't. Barton did. I just called all of you."  
  
"Ah!" The billionaire strode over to the sharpshooter, clapping him on a back and earning a filthy look from Natasha. He ignored her. "All right! The man of the hour! So, what'd you do, Barton? How'd you find the great pain in our collective..." Fury turned to stare at him. Tony reconsidered his statement and coughed. "Uh, how'd you find him?"  
  
The hawk pointed towards the west wall, which, when one headed down the winding hallway, would take them to SHIELD's well-equipped little training room. The team followed his hand, all staring at the dark gray wall for a moment before turning back to him in disbelief, waiting for an explanation as to why Fury would have been hidden there of all places.  
  
"The system alters the room to a suitable environment," Clint said, relaying the obvious. "Turned it on, fired a few shots, and shut the computer down after a couple hours."  
  
"Yeah, that's great and all, but where'd you find  _him_?"  
  
The marksman nodded towards the container. "When I got through, he was in here."  
  
Nodding, the billionaire moved away from Clint and slid back over towards Pepper. He wasn't even going to bother asking why in the hell he'd bothered sharing such useless information. Looking between the hawk and the spider, it was easy enough to tell: Unrequited sexual tension. Or something along those lines. Something that had to do with their obvious little spat.   
  
"Do warn me before you all start talking about your feelings, won't you?" Loki quipped. "I'm not sure I could stand up to one of your little group therapy sessions. I understand they're rather ghastly."  
  
Fury stepped up to the glass, slamming a fist against it. "Sure. Now, you just tell us what you've done with Dr. Foster."  
  
Loki remained seated, a feigned look of bewilderment falling across his face. "Who?" Bastard was positively giddy. "I have no idea who you are talking about."  
  
"Oh, come on, man!" Tony yelled, and Pepper rolled her eyes. "The pretty little thing who hangs on your brother's arm day and night! The one with the genius-intellect and amazing brain! The smoking hot woman who, and I'm sure every man in here will agree, could only be hotter if she walked around in the snow within Times Square while wearing fire engine red hot pants!"  
  
Immediately, regret for that statement pooled in his gut, and it seemed that everyone stopped breathing all at once.  
  
"Ah,  _her,_ " the god chuckled, and Tony was slapped hard in the back of the head. "Well, I would were it to do you the slightest bit of good. You can't reach her from here. Not with your primitive mortal technologies."  
  
Fury glared. "Where is she...?"  
  
"I've already shown you, Director." Loki stood, paced slowly about in the container. A sneer. "Please. You can stop trembling. It's not that cold in here."  
  
The Director stowed his hands away in his pockets.   
  
"Uh, excuse me. Mind filling us in?" Tony looked between the two.   
  
"Jotunheim," Fury murmured with a sigh.   
  
His radio crackled, Agent Hill's voice coming through the static, insisting that they all take a look at the latest bit of news feed as soon as possible. Tony whipped out his phone, the live stream appearing on the screen as the others huddled around him, peering over his shoulders. The gray wheel on the video turned over several times, the face of the newscaster finally coming through as the camera crew began to run, the microphone still feeding into the broadcast. It was Times Square, all lit up like it was every year following Thanksgiving, dust and debris flying through the air and mingling with the snow.   
  
The woman screamed, the hand of the camera operator appearing as he reached down to lift her off the ground, stopping a moment in the middle of the street to crane his neck up as a large grey-blue rock fell from the top of a nearby building, splintering the crosswalk upon impact. The dust was thick as the wind blew, a monstrous hand reaching out to grab the camera once it had strayed too close. The machine fell to the ground, still live, and caught sight of a pair of very large feet, standing in dripping blood as a human arm fell to the ground.   
  
The Avengers lifted their eyes from the scene, all focused intently on the god. He leaned against the glass, laughing maniacally as the sound of screams burst from Tony's phone.   
  
" _They're here._ "


	17. A Stranger

It was cold when she woke, dark, unfamiliar. Mountains rose in the distance, tall and looming, cool gray clouds flitting about the sky with the harsh wind, and she shivered, pulled that heavy down coat around her body and shook. This was not the winter of New York, the weather that she had known for only a few weeks now. It was harsher, somehow, relentless in the way the sleet and snow threatened to toss her wildly across the broken landscape.   
  
Deep scars in the ground around her whistled, telling tales of more than one deep abyss that led to the center of the world. For fear that she may misstep, find herself falling straight down and to her death, Jane curled in on herself, content to stay just where she was until someone came to find her.   
  
Peering about, she thought, for but a moment, that this could be a dream; and, if not a dream, then one of the poles, known well as being the coldest points on the planet. But there were no animals, seeking the hunt, seeking warmth with one another, and no water, not so far as she could see.   
  
It left a question: If she wasn't on Earth, then where in the hell was she?  
  
Green eyes shot open, the memory returning, that voice, like a snake's tongue, slithering into her ear.   
  
He had come for her, whisked her away, when he must have known that Thor was gone, unable to protect her. Jane wished that she could insist that, as a woman of the modern age, she did not need protecting. But, when it came down to it, portals to Asgard, giant magic hammers, alien invaders, and devious gods, a mortal like herself didn't stand much of a chance.   
  
Loki had come with an air about him, a behavior that she dared to define as proper, even knowing who she was and what her relations with his brother were. But Jane was sure that that had not been all. She had opened her big mouth, pissed him off, compared him to the man whom, both he and Jane knew, was far and above him. Superior, in every sense of the word. Perhaps that had tipped the sleight of his hand, caused her to wind up in this frozen hell.   
  
But it couldn't have just been that. For Loki had said that he'd made a promise to Thor. A promise to take care of her himself.   
  
The thought made her shudder, the ground seeming to shake with her. And, as her fingers moved under her arms, Jane realized that the earth did rumble beneath her knees, the tiny chips of ice quivering as something drew near.   
  
She chanced a glance upward, shocked to see the remains of an ancient city, made of ice and stone, now fallen into much ruin. There were men, at least she assumed them to be, who strode towards her, the photograph presented at the first Avengers meeting tacking itself to the insides of her eyelids.   
  
Frost Giants of Jotunheim, Thor had called them, and she recalled their markings, their tattoos or even scales, their great bodies standing several heads above her own as they loomed above.   
  
Jane stiffened, putting on the bravest face she could muster. Perhaps they were like dogs, she thought. Maybe, were she to conduct herself as the alpha, the leader of the pack, they would accept her as such or even leave.   
  
But as one of them, easily eight feet tall, knelt beside her, that idea was dashed, the beast's great hand picking her up as though she weighed nothing at all. As the group turned back, Jane in their possession, she saw that they headed towards the city where, at the center, stood a steadily crumbling building that greatly resembled ancient temples.   
  
She closed her eyes, somewhat grateful that the giants hadn't simply taken to crushing her, and whispered his name under her breath.   
  
"Thor, where are you...?"  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
The storm that had settled over New York had made his travel easier. Though it was believed that most of the citizens knew about the Avengers, it was best to be safe. The cover it provided, what with the raging hail and sleet and dark clouds, Thor's entrance into the city was simply, the growl of his thunderbolt touching down, unseen, in the river. With a thrust of his hammer, the god soared from the water, above the buildings and onto the rooftop of SHIELD's ground headquarters, heading through the rooftop door and inside.   
  
He took to the stairs, running down them two at a time until, in his urgency, Thor jumped the railing entirely, falling down twenty flights of stairs and onto the floor of the basement level. Down the hall, around several corners, and he stormed into the room, his eyes alight with flame as he found Fury, who, based on his present expression, seemed to have been having a very unproductive chat with his brother.  
  
The Director didn't say a word to him, merely stepped aside for Thor to pass, jammed his thumb into the button of the remote, and allowed the God of Thunder to enter the container.   
  
Loki, of course, could only smile.   
  
"Well, if it isn't my big brother," he chortled, and Thor's hand tightened around Mjolnir. "Come to save me, have you?"  
  
The god turned back, glancing at Fury who gave him a quick nod before bowing out of the room. When the door closed behind him, Thor's nostrils flared, the hammer fastened to his hip as the back of his hand struck Loki in the face.   
  
He fell back with an irritated growl, gasping as blood rolled down his chin. Loki spat at him, pushing himself backwards and against the glass as he teetered to his feet.   
  
" _Four._ "  
  
Thor didn't bother asking what that meant, stepping across the container in two long strides, hefting Loki off the floor and slamming him into the glass, watching as it cracked behind his head. The thunder god trembled, wrestling with the facts and thoughts inside his head. His anger screamed at him to do what he would have done in years past, to deliver blow after blow until the enemy was a writhing heap of nerves, incapable of even speech. Thor's hand trembled as he considered it, recoiling with a breathy sigh as he allowed Loki to drop.   
  
The god stared at the web of cracks in the glass, immediately ashamed of himself. He had come for information, to find Jane, perhaps even talk Loki out of this madness. He had not come to wage war, sever ties.   
  
He flinched, the sound of his brother's moan ringing in his ears. Loki swore, his palm coming away red as he pressed a hand to the back of his head, heaving and snarling bitterly at Thor.   
  
"Feel better now?" He leaned over, hands on his knees as he hacked, and Thor felt even worse. "I've said it before: I very much dislike being struck."  
  
Thor nodded, leaning back against the glass and bit his lip. How to begin...?  
  
"You've been to see Mother," he said hesitantly. "Why?"  
  
Loki made no response, settling himself back on the bench and watching Thor with a dark venom. Clearly, the God of Thunder had started his visit off in the worst manner imaginable. The silence was awkward, and Thor was fairly certain that he was not only sweating, but radiating the stench of fear and anxiety as well. Were they still friends, still back home in Asgard, Loki would have made some teasingly snide comment about the mighty Thor being afraid of Asgardian serpents, or whatever the hell else they'd decided to go about hunting.   
  
A soft smile pulled at Thor's lips, remembering how they'd walk together to the stables nearly every morning following their meal, mounting their prize horses and setting off across Asgard for the adventure that young gods like themselves always sought. They would leave all cares behind, sometimes heading off without the aid of friends, content in each other's company as the blood of foul beasts fell from the sky around them.  
  
Truly, those had been the happiest days of his life.   
  
But Loki was a stranger to him now.  
  
" _Don't_ ," the word slipped slowly from his brother's mouth, " _talk about her..._ "  
  
A golden brow creased, and Thor took a lumbering step forward. "Why?" he demanded, voice strained. "Does it shame you to hold such regard for her? Does it cause you such distress to  _think_  on what you've done to her, Brother? Does it haunt you, in the darkness of your lost mind, to know that your actions now serve to only disappoint her?!"  
  
His eyes closed, a shuddering breath escaping his nose as Loki's hand collided with the side of his face.   
  
" _Enough._  I already told you... I'm not your brother." Thor could hear his breaths, quick and shallow, temper having finally got the best of him. "It's a lie. It's always been a  _lie_ , Thor. And you're a fool, if you think I give a  _damn_  about what happens to her, or to the rest of Asgard!"  
  
The glass shattered, Mjolnir clasped tightly in Thor's hand, the head of the hammer having smashed the panel behind him, his chest rising and falling steadily.   
  
"Liar," he said, and the word tasted blood on his tongue. "You wouldn't have gone home if you didn't care."  
  
Thor had tried so hard to convince himself of that fact since Frigga had let slip the news, allowed him to see the vision she had prevented. Loki, standing firm above him as he slept, only to lean over and cut out his throat with the utmost satisfaction. It disturbed him, would always disturb him, to know just how far his brother had strayed from the path. Were his death suitable payment, a means with which to redeem him, Thor would gladly lay down and die.   
  
"Maybe," Loki hissed, his eyes manic, "when I'm through with precious Midgard, I will show you just how little I care for her..."  
  
Thor stiffened, his ears feeling as though they were on fire as his brother's explanation dragged on. It was so vivid, the painting in his mind, imagining the sky that would bleed as Asgard burned. They would die, he said. The Allfather, his friends, everything he'd ever had room for in his heart; he would take it all down. And, when the palace walls crumbled in upon themselves, the lake water running red like a fountain drowned in blood, he would take her, make Thor watch as she died in his arms.   
  
The God of Thunder shook his head, denying everything. Hands clapped over his ears and he listened to the advice he'd given to many over the years, repeating it over and over until it slipped from his lips:   
  
"Loki always lies."  
  
He teetered, swinging his arms as he fell back and out of the cage, landing hard on his back and the shattered glass that lay scattered across the floor.   
  
"Do I? Well, then, we'll have to change that, won't we?" His Asgardian armor appeared then, the helmet fitting itself around Loki's face, the spear pointed at Thor's throat as his brother thought for a minute. He smiled that devilish smile of his. "In that case... I vow, on my life, that I will destroy Asgard... and drain the blood from your precious Jane's lifeless corpse. How's that for lying,  _Brother_?"  
  
Thor saw red.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Two clips, two guns, and still the giant would not fall. Tony had managed to burn one of them enough to have it lay on the ground and scream, but no matter how many damned bullets she put into the beast's head, it still refused to die.   
  
Natasha jumped back, the giant swinging a massive arm at her, tearing into the sidewalk with heavy hands. One arm rose to shield her nose and mouth from the dust, the other pointing the gun at the creature again, firing shot after shot into its massive skull until one of them struck it in the eye. The giant bellowed, hands slamming against its face as it wailed, finally falling limp.   
  
Whether it was dead or not, she couldn't keep wasting time on just one of them. She had to hope that the thing had died, but feared that, if they took this long to be put down, there was no probable way that the team would be able to take them all out. Even if there were only ten of them storming about.   
  
"Where the hell is Thor?!" she hissed, turning in time to see the Hulk drive his fist into a second giant's throat. "We're getting killed out here!"  
  
Already, the paint on Tony's armor was cracked and flaking off, some of the plates gauged and dented as he hovered above the ground, dropping rockets and chunks of torn up concrete on top of the Jotunns.   
  
"Great question, princess!" he hollered back, zooming out of the way as a taxi cab came flying towards him.   
  
The Captain's shield came flying out of nowhere, striking the giant in the chest as it lifted another small car. The vehicle fell from its hands, denting the ground as it stumbled backwards, seemingly more agitated than it had been before.   
  
"Kill them," it growled, bloody eyes fixated on the assassin. "Our king wishes them dead!"  
  
Natasha was so stunned by the sound of speech from the giant's lips, that she failed to see the stop sign before it struck her from behind, propelling her across the street. She landed hard, dropping her guns and skidding several feet across the rough gravel, easily wearing down the material of her leather suit.   
  
"What the hell..?" she looked up, the blue giant towering over her with a satisfied expression. Perhaps she could try reasoning with it. "Why would you come here?! Why destroy our world when we've done nothing to yours?!"  
  
The giant sneered, "Our king wishes it."  
  
Well, that was certainly helpful.   
  
"Your  _king_?! Who is he?! Why us, why Earth?!"  
  
For a moment, the giant appeared bothered by the question, staring down at her with a dissatisfied gleam in its eyes. A gray lip curled. " _The Asgardian._ "  
  
A boom sounded in the distance, all movement in the street stopping as smoke erupted from the SHIELD building, lightning touching down on it through the head of the heavy storm.   
  
Natasha's breath caught in her throat, and she muttered, "Shit!"


	18. Devil May Care

Thor's voice rang loud in his ears as lighting licked the earth, leaving a gauge in the concrete as they skid across the ground, scraping armor and skin against pavement and flecks of shattered glass. The cage had burst when he'd brought dear Jane into it, the walls of the underground blowing apart and sending the both of them flying to the surface. The fall from their arcs in the sky couldn't have been nearly as painful as falling straight to Midgard from the Bifrost, but it certainly wasn't a pleasant feeling, listening to one's own bones crack and bleed before mending again. Repairing bones was always the worst of it all.   
  
The elder prince lay face-down in the debris, his back rising and falling steadily, the hammer just out of reach. Were there any chance he could wield it, take it from Thor and cast it into the darkest corner of Midgard, Loki would have jumped at the opportunity. But trying to lift Mjolnir was like trying to kick Volstagg out of his seat after a hefty meal of beef. A vain and impossible idea.   
  
His keen ears could hear the sound, the split in the fabric of space as the giants crossed through, their cries echoing across the emptied city streets, followed swiftly by that of gunshots. Mortals and their guns, he thought. Would they never learn? The beasts of Jotunheim would surely not fall to such primitive technologies. A strange idea, granted that Loki wasn't particularly fond of the Frost Giants, either. But, when making a such a despicable choice, the silvertongue had always opted to place his bet on the lesser of two evils. Or, at least, the one that would serve to place his opponents at a severe disadvantage.   
  
Tactics, and all that.   
  
He liked to think that the Avengers were being overpowered, the Jotunns tearing easily into their protections, their flesh being smeared across their proud landmarks like the rats they were. Diseased vermin, the lot of them. If they would not be conquered, then they would die, and Midgard's fire set alight with their blood, a spectacle to behold through the Nine Realms.  
  
No one would dare challenge him.   
  
A weight struck Loki square in the chest, sending him flying through several walls of a neighboring skyscraper before the hammer shot back through the holes and he fell, flat on his back, to stare up at the flickering lights of an office building's ceiling before the whole damn thing came falling down in a heap of concrete, glass, and metal.  
  
He'd always hated feeling trapped, even as a boy. Head pushed under the water, covered with a heavy curtain, a cushion, Sif's hands clapped over his eyes and mouth, ever living in Thor's almighty shadow. It was draining, suffocating, to loose that control, that freedom, to live and breathe and move the way one needed to.  
  
There was just darkness, the only thing he'd ever known to be true, closing in on him, dust and dirt falling like rain beneath the wreckage, settling itself within his lungs. Just the darkness, that solitary companion, never offering warmth, comfort, compassion, understanding. The shadows that licked at his heels, had lived deep inside his head even on the brightest of days, always making him wonder just what he was meant to do.   
  
When it had finally spoke, the answer to his questions had been made very clear.   
  
 _Destroy._  
  
Light shone hard into his eyes, Thor stretching his arm through the hole he'd made in the rubble, grabbing him. "Stop this madness!"  
  
"Did you not... say that to me once before...?"  
  
"I'll kill you. How's that for familiar, devil?"   
  
The gun cocked, the barrel pressed against the back of his head as Thor held him up, the plates of his armor scraped and dented and covered in blood and dirt. It didn't matter to the assassin, now come to dear Thor's rescue, that she couldn't kill a god. She just wanted the satisfaction, justification with which to unload a clip into his skull.   
  
Thor reached over him, his hand slapping the weapon away to send it skittering across the torn sidewalk. Natasha growled at him, her voice ringing distant in Loki's head as she demanded to know why in the hell the God of Thunder would protect him, the lying bastard who'd been more than happy to kill them all, destroy their world. But Thor made no reply; stared at her with a lion's gaze until she settled down, backed away.   
  
All was as it should have been. This was their fight.  
  
He could hear them, the cries of the Jotunns as they died, limbs being torn off, bones smashed and flesh burned, spilling the oil-like filth that pulsed through their frosted hearts: Black and slick and dead in appearance. Looking at the blood that clung to his hands, Loki wondered why his wasn't at all the same.   
  
"What now, Thor?" he spat, voice strained and trembling. The idea of his once-called brother being the object of their mother's disdain was suddenly thrilling to him. Were Thor to kill him, she would be unable to look at the golden prince; force herself to shun the God of Thunder, hate him, the same way Odin had hated him the moment his path had strayed from the Allfather's glorious plan. His hands scrabbled against the plates of Thor's flaking armor, ice formed in his palms, under his skin, the blue color bleeding its way through again. "You know what I am, don't you?! Didn't you say that you would hunt us down; kill the monsters; protect Asgard?!"   
  
Thor said nothing, but his eyes hardened.   
  
"What about your Jane?! Do you want her to die?! I thought you'd do anything for her...  _Anything!_  Isn't that what you promised?!"  
  
Loki blinked furiously, shaking with anger and hatred and fear as those kind blue eyes stared down at him, and he knew that he'd gone and changed again, the skin of the damned Jotunns covering that which he should have always believed in. His teeth chattered, as though he were but an Asgardian, the devilish frost of Jotunheim striking itself into his bones, starved of warmth, of comfort. He could feel the gash in his forehead as it split further, flexing with every slight movement of his furrowed brow, blood gently seeping out and down the bridge of his nose, only to roll right off his chin.   
  
He hated that look,  _hated_  it. They'd all looked at him that way once, all of them. Feeling pity for the little prince of Asgard, the great lie in the proud history of the Aesir. A child with pale blue eyes like the moon and hair dark as the daemon shadows, born to graying Odin and fair Frigga. A child far more skilled in the ways of deception, of magic, than perhaps any warrior come before him. They must have known of his origins, all of them, their lips sealed by their solemn vows to a liar king, their only recourse to look upon him with disdain, with pity.  
  
"This is not about Jane, Loki..." That caught him off guard, his jaw slackened. He tensed, Thor's bloodied hand coming to rest on the side of his face, slowly falling to his shoulder. "Make no mistake. I do love her; I care deeply for her safety. But you... You're my brother. So please... just come home..."  
  
He ran.


	19. A Black Mark

Director Fury had thrown a fit when the Avengers had returned to SHIELD, demanding to know what in the hell had happened to cause so much damage to the building and its equipment. Much of the power had short-circuited, an event which, he claimed as he led them downstairs, had been the cause of an explosion in the lower levels of the building. They had all looked right at Thor then, who had ignored them, shuffling into the containment room to stare heavily into the broken down prison, glass cracking beneath his boots as he stepped inside, his hand falling upon the furthest panel to touch his finger's to his brother's blood.   
  
They said nothing, several of them bowing quickly out of the room to fill the Director in on all the damage that had been done to the city by the giants. Only Pepper and Tony remained.   
  
The god turned, settling down upon the cell's bench, ignoring the small bits of glass as they bit into his legs and backside, elbows propped up on knees as he covered his face with his hands. He clamped his eyes shut. It didn't feel as though Loki had been held prisoner here. Just the opposite. It was that feeling of being back in the desert, seeking to restore himself to his rightful place by Odin's side, prove to his father that he could be the son that the Allfather deserved. But, this time, he was seeking a way to redeem his fallen brother.   
  
He recalled to mind the way Loki had clung to him as a boy, bright-eyed and eager to go wherever Thor went, like a little shadow. They would romp about the palace, climbing up the curtains and yanking them down, running through the fountains in the throne room, pulling fruit off the trees in the vineyard and throwing the grapes at anyone foolish enough to walk beneath their perch high up in the leaves. He remembered how Loki would cry when their father rode off towards the Bifrost with a handful of the realm's most skilled warrior, seeking to maintain peace between the nine realms. He would wail and hold fast to their mother's hand, lamenting his belief that their father would come home wounded, if at all. Thor would hold onto him then, whispering that the Allfather was the mightiest being in all of the Nine Realms; he could not be beaten.   
  
When had that child been taken from them, run off to hide in the dark while another took his place?   
  
 _Shadow._    
  
The word stuck fast in his mind, sitting straight up as Pepper stepped warily over the glass. He could hear her breath as it slowed the warmth of her hand coming to rest atop his head as she brushed the shards aside and sat down.   
  
"Dude, your brother's a crazy bastard," he heard Tony say.  
  
People had always disliked Loki, for one reason or another, often saying distasteful things about him once he'd stepped out of the room. Thor had never apologized for him, only ever frowned and insisted that they keep their opinions to themselves or deal with Loki directly, rather than slinking around behind his back and spreading rumors. But now, with his head spinning with the thoughts of his injured friends, the destroyed city, the citizens who had been hurt, Thor couldn't bring himself to say a thing. He couldn't defend something like this. He could barely accept the fact that he might have to choose between redeeming his brother and saving Jane.   
  
There was a thud as Tony's helmet, scraped and dented and burned, fell to the floor, the glass around it rattling. He muttered quietly to himself, complaining about the damned giants and the fact that, because of them, he'd have to stay up at least half the night repairing damages, and would thus miss out on his "special time" with Pepper.   
  
It all made Thor feel even worse.   
  
"It's okay," Pepper told him, probably glaring at Tony. "It's not your fault."  
  
Behind his hands, the god's eyes seemed to shut tighter, the first signs of moisture appearing in their corners. It  _had_  been his fault. He  _could_  have kept all of this from happening. If he had only realized sooner the subtle jealousy in his brother's demeanor, the way he'd always tried to keep himself at Thor's side, even when they ran headlong into things that Loki otherwise would have protested. The voice rang in his head again:   
  
 _"I never wanted the throne! I only ever wanted to be your equal!"_  
  
Fresh breath in his lungs, Thor stood, taking Pepper's hand and leading her out of the cage to stand by Tony's side. They eyed him quietly, the billionaire swallowing before giving the god a sorry look.   
  
"It sucks," he said, "to find out that someone you trusted wants to ruin you." Tony bumped him on the chest, a half-smile on his face. "So what's your plan, Sparky?"  
  
"I will bring them both home," he said, and turned to the crater that led to the broken streets above. "But what of the Director? Should I not...?"  
  
Tony gave him a shove, pushing him towards the hole. "Just go. I'll... take the heat for you. Tell him it was my fault; that I wasn't keeping a close enough eye on you."  
  
The god gave Tony a warm smile, said his farewells, and lifted Mjolnir, a bolt of lightning soaring through the hole and taking him up. He would go home, seek the aid of his friends, travel to Jotunheim by way of the Bifrost, and not leave until he had both Jane and Loki in hand.   
  
"Wait for me, Jane," he said, the atmosphere rushing through his ears. "I am coming."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
With her eyes squeezed shut, Jane told herself not to cry. She was cold, chilled to the bone even through her thick coat, what with a layer of ice sealed around her middle, holding her firmly to the slab of stone. A lone giant stood above her, appearing rather bored with the fact that he was stuck with the task of guarding a mortal woman. She was, however, very grateful that the beast hadn't taken to bludgeoning her.   
  
Jane turned herself to staring up at the ceiling, flaking and cracked in places, gentle bits of ice falling down to rest on her face. The giant spared her a fleeting glance, before turning quietly away, looking as though he'd very much like to sleep.   
  
Being here, among the Frost Giants, quietly observing them, their ways, Jane was fascinated, albeit a bit frightened. She had always wanted to see the worlds that lay outside her own, set foot upon foreign ground and study the people, understand their way of life, live with them, be one of them for a time. But this, being held prisoner within a broken temple upon a landscape full of ice and darkness, wasn't what Jane had had in mind at all.   
  
There had been a bridge, she remembered, when Loki had dragged her here, groggy and half-awake, though it had been nothing like she'd expected. Not wide and reaching across space, like the Golden Gate and Brooklyn Bridges were. Rather slim, almost unseen, trails beneath their feet, seeming to appear with each step taken. But perhaps there was no bridge; perhaps it had been a dream, walking through the deep reaches of space with the wicked brother of the man she loved. He'd likely just transported her here with magic.   
  
A sound burned through the temple, that of horrid cries, the sort Jane imagined would burn through the television speakers during a vicious horror film. They bounced off the walls, boring into Jane's ears, causing her eyes to clamp shut and jaw to lock, teeth scraping. In her head, she could see people being chased by a violent killer, cut down in blood and trampled into the floors, bodies pulled apart and thrown across the walls of a closed-off room.   
  
Cracking ice sounded beside her, Jane's eyes snapping open to glance at the giant beside her. The fatigue had clearly worn off, his gaze sharp and focused, peering almost worriedly through a new and gaping hole in the far wall as the shouts died down. Silence echoed in the lonely room for but a second before a great black smear shot through the hole, falling messily upon the floor, reminding Jane of the gasoline spill that had occurred in town not two years before when a man had driven his truck through a gas pump.  
  
It smelled nothing like gasoline, but a bit like cool mint and metal as it slipped quietly across the floor, the giant taking a great step back as he observed the scene with scrutiny. Jane looked to him and back to the mess, growing increasingly worried. Through the hole, Jane caught sight of movement, her eyes widening as Loki appeared, haggard and covered in that dark substance as he stared down the giant with a venom.  
  
The Frost Giant bellowed, causing Jane to jump, as he charged towards the god, a dagger of ice coating his massive fist.   
  
Jane's eyes widened, and she could only scream.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
They sat together, Volstagg and Fandral quarreling with one another as Hogun remained content with inspecting his weaponry, Sif's hand hovering over the horse's coat with a brush, the other stroking its muzzle as the animal's eyes closed contently. It was becoming old, listening to the two of them argue, each seeking to play leader while Thor was away, unable to agree as to what they could and should do to aid their friend and prince. Sif had grown tired of trying to stop their fighting, having decided to allow the two of them to scuffle until they had worn themselves out.   
  
The horse nudged her, Sif smiling as it turned and rubbed its nose against the side of her face. The brush slid through its mane, her hand dipping into the pocket on the saddle to retrieve an apple, pressing it gently into the horse's mouth.   
  
"What in the name of Valhalla would make you believe yourself fit to be in command?!" Volstagg bellowed, stretching an arm to give Fandral a hefty shove.   
  
The other stumbled back, arms waving as he caught his balance on his heel, scowling. "Must I go through it again? A man who can lead any crowd, is certainly capable of leading an army!"  
  
"Oh, of course. Because Asgard's mightiest armies are made up of ridiculous, swooning servant girls! Only then would any army follow the likes of you!"  
  
Sif dropped the brush as the two grabbed each other, the horse whinnying and rearing up as she approached them, giving them each a good kick in the ass as she began to shout.   
  
"You are both fools to argue about such things!" she bellowed, and continued to berate them as to how childish they were being, that they would bring shame to the meaning of the warrior's position. Sif grabbed each of them by an ear, dragging them to the side of the stable before giving them a shove, sending them to the ground. "If you wish to act like children, you will be treated like children! You will both sit here until I've decided that you've had enough!"  
  
The sky, which had been gray all day, began to growl then, the rain-heavy clouds sweeping above the stables with an incredible speed, the moisture dropping out of the masses as a roaring bolt of thunder struck the ground. Sif covered her eyes, Hogun dropped his blade, and Volstagg and Fandral scramble backwards with shock on their faces as the light and sound died down, the cobbled pavement scorched black where Thor now stood.   
  
"Thor!" her heart skipped a beat as he nodded to them, all gathering around the god so as to welcome him home again. "We had not expected you!"  
  
"Good to see you again, old boy!" Fandral laughed, offering the prince a warm embrace. "Do tell: Have you grown tired of the mortals again? Not all that they seem, eh?"  
  
The God of Thunder did not smile, returning the gesture with less enthusiasm than he normally would have. He appeared deadly serious; his armor dented and bloodied, shallow cuts easily decorating his noble brow and strong hands. Sif narrowed her eyes, mind spinning with ideas that made her blood boil. No mere mortal could have inflicted real injury upon the prince. At least, not the sort to grace his skin with bruising and flecks of blood. The warrior balled her hands at her sides, eyes boring into his.   
  
He looked to her, moving his head so as to insist that she not speak ill of the snake whom they both knew to be responsible. That was the only thing that bothered her about her friend: Thor was always far too willing to protect Loki, even when all knew that he was wrong.   
  
"I have come to ask your aid," Thor said, looking them over. "I ask that you ride with me again to Jotunheim."  
  
Volstagg chuckled, his gut trembling. "And for what? Do not tell me it is in the name of our king?" he joked. "Surely, he did not call you back to Asgard to wage war with the Frost Giants."  
  
"My father did not call me back. I seek to rescue Jane."  
  
Fandral snorted. "The mortal woman you met in the deserts of Midgard?" He threw his head back, laughing as Thor nodded. "What in the name of Valhalla would she be doing on Jotunheim? Better yet, how would she get there?"  
  
Sif's lip curled, her gaze turned away from the prince. "Loki," she said sourly, his name a black mark upon her tongue.  
  
The Warriors Three looked to her in shock. "Loki?"  
  
Thor bit the inside of his cheek, closing his eyes in naught else but shame. "He has taken her to Jotunheim. I mean to return her to Midgard with haste."  
  
Hogun, having still said nothing, mounted his horse and steered it slowly towards the bridge. "To Jotunheim."  
  
The God of Thunder smiled in thanks, the others following suit. When all were astride, they looked to her, a heavy breath slipping out of Sif's nose as she climbed atop her steed, directing a foul look at Thor, as if to say, "You had best not defend him again."


	20. Raised To The Slaughter

They had not welcomed him with open arms; nor had he expected them to. Truly foul beasts they were, certainly worthy of destruction at the hands of a god, a king. But, granted the trouble he had gone through to get so far, it had seemed well worth it to wander into their realm, pique their curiosity, and allow the call to be made. Were it favorable and in the service of his work, they would have been permitted to live. Were it not, he would have said nothing of their precious artifact, and simply turned to destroying them.  
  
At first, they had opposed him. But he, being a gracious god, had silenced those who would rebel, and allowed the rest to join him. Though with much reluctance, the Frost Giants had complied with his will, and he, being the fabricator of the great and marvelous lie, had promised their redemption.   
  
In silence, the relic now sat on its pedestal, lined with excessive blue light. He had not trusted a one of them with it, had swiftly dedicated himself, and his magicks, to its protection. The Casket had been his tool, his means with which to bring about the end of peace that the Nine Realms had known under Odin's rule. With this power, his servants, that peace would have been so easily unraveled.  
  
The sight of his blue skin was always sickening, but had been a necessity for the cause. Rather wisely, the Jotunns would not have trusted him had they believed him to have come as but the Son of Odin. So, with disgust churning in his stomach, he had permitted them to see him as he should have been from the beginning: A tribal beast.   
  
These origins had caught up with him, what with gentle Thor bearing witness to his monstrosity. He had fled Midgard, set about to end that which the God of Thunder held most precious. Kill the woman, leave her mangled corpse upon the altar, for he knew Thor would come to the temple in hopes of saving her, to try and end him for his wickedness. The thought of suffering at the other's hand was almost a welcome thought to him as the giant fell, impaled with a lance as he spewed the swears of an ancient tongue, darkness overcoming great red eyes. The head lolled backwards in death, striking the ground with a sickening crack, and the woman began to scream.  
  
She had no room in her fragile human skull for threats, for challenges, crying out for her great savior to come, save her from the hand of death. From the devil, as it were.   
  
Loki had never found satisfaction in butchering an enemy while incapacitated, but for the sake of his brother's bleeding heart, perhaps he would make an exception.   
  
"Please," she wailed, tears tracking down her red cheeks, as if such an act would stop him. "Thor..."  
  
The name struck Loki like a hammer to the head, ears ringing as though he'd be split in two. He shushed her, kneeling beside the altar, his shaking breath in her ear as his hand slipped over her mouth, silencing her pleas. Thor would come for her, that much was certain. He would chase her to the edge of Yggdrasil and beyond, without a single selfish thought for his own well-being.   
  
It was revolting, to think that a higher being, a god, could find it in himself to love a mortal woman so dearly.  
  
Dear Jane had not been tainted by the giants, their foul odor, their blood, having remained as pristine as when she'd arrived. That Earth scent still lingering lightly upon her skin, in her hair, even as the room itself was rank with the eternal stench of death and ice. His hand brushed aside her tears, her eyes wide and pleading like that of a doe in the heat of the kill, the faintest sliver of hope for his mercy still alive and burning.   
  
The web of lithe branches that had bound themselves to him began to tremble, the steady hum of electricity coming through them, the tips of his fingers buzzing from the light shock. They had come for her, by way of the Bifrost, by way of lightning, their thunderous footsteps heading closer with every second Loki took to breathe. Thor had brought them, his dear friends, to witness this bitter end. The prince could see them now, standing off to the side as the brothers fought, Thor striking him down with a heavy blow, their breaths caught in their throats with the hope that a traitor's blood would forever stain the grounds of Jotunheim. It would be just as in their childhood, laughing and cheering as Thor pushed him off the wall and into the fountain, leaving him bitter and beaten again.  
  
They had always wished him dead.   
  
"Don't cry, little bird," the liar whispered, and Jane trembled. He swallowed, the ice stealthily building daggers in his hand. She whimpered again. "Hush. It will all be over soon..."  
  
The boom came down just outside the temple doors, their steps slowing as they entered, the sight of the lifeless Jotunn corpses too numerous for them to simply charge on through.   
  
He heard his name, loud, as it burst from Thor's lips, sounding foreign even to his own ears. The woman cried out again, calling the god's name, his hand falling from her face as he raised the other, the dagger poised to cut out her throat.   
  
It should have been Thor upon the altar, weeping and wailing and begging for forgiveness. But if he could not kill Thor, he would gladly kill the woman his brother loved.   
  
"Bastard!"   
  
Sif's voice rang through, his pale eyes narrow as she hurried in, fingers curling around the hilt of her blade. How long had she sought out this moment, dreamed of the day when she'd find reason enough to run him through? How many days of their lives had she spent watching him, knowing that something wasn't right, that he would one day turn upon their lively little collective, upon Asgard and her king? Every day, her dark eyes said, from the moment he and Thor had engaged in silent competition for the throne. Every day since his feelings inadequacy and jealousy had taken root.   
  
Loki mocked her, mouth upturned in a smile, as if to welcome Sif to the frozen hell upon which her body could very well lay. The others followed, their eyes wide as Jane screamed again, Thor's face coming through the archway to meet her gaze.   
  
"Welcome, my friends," the liar god leered, settling his focus upon Thor. "It is good of you to join me here at the moment of triumph."  
  
Sif's eyes burned red, with fury, Thor's with worry as he stepped gently past her.  
  
He raised a hand, slow and absent of threat, brows raised as he pleaded with those sky blue eyes, "Loki, please... Let Jane go."  
  
"And for what?" The dark prince laughed. "So you may take her back to precious Earth, live out the remainder of her days, and seek another to take her place?" Jane's breaths grew heavy, laden with fear. "By taking her life, I am doing you both a kindness, Brother."  
  
Thor did not respond to the bait, his hands moving to unfasten the hammer at his hip, allowing Mjolnir to drop to the ground. "Loki, don't."  
  
The God of Mischief stiffened, the point of the blade sliding steadily across Jane's wet cheek, drawing a thin line of blood in the now parting flesh. He had not wanted this diplomacy, had not wanted to enter into foolish negotiations with a barbarian. He wanted war, for Thor to recognize him as naught but a threat, charge through the temple and attempt to break him, bleed him for all the hell he'd willingly wrought upon the realms. Jane began to cry harder, tears and blood mingling to drop steadily upon the stone of the altar. The sound was driving Loki up the wall.  
  
"If I were anyone else, you would have no qualms about killing me, making me suffer like the mindless brute we all know you are." Loki could almost feel it now, the steady drum of his failing heart in his ears, blood rushing from his throat, bones breaking with every breath he struggled to take. "Don't you remember what you told me, Brother? 'Should any man stand in the way of your convictions, you need only walk up, and stab him in the heart.'"  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
They circled one another like the cycles of the seasons, of the sun and the moon, of life and death. One rising where the other fell, each struggling for dominance in the worlds. Such had been the nature of their relationship from the beginning.   
  
Many times she had seen the vision, waking in the dead of night and hurrying to their rooms, seeking to know if the time had come in which they would fight, one brother to cast the other down in blood, in war. They had always been there, safe and sound every night, sleeping quietly, even splayed beneath the same blanket as children. They had always been together in some respect. If not both running off to slay vile creatures in the depths of Asgard's great mountains, then together in spirit, one waiting eagerly atop the balconies for the other to return.   
  
But her two boys, having lived the entirety of their lives with one another, had finally been separated by banishment, the throne, the fragments of the Bifrost as it dragged one of them into oblivion. Then a year, perhaps even two, had passed them by, bringing them together again in battle. Another separation, and now a second war. Perhaps the war that would end one of their lives.   
  
The visions had always wavered a bit, sometimes proclaiming Thor the victor, other times, Loki. The sight of seeing one of them, one of her children, falling to the earth clad in blood and death, was not something a mother could become accustomed to. For every night that she had seen such things, Frigga had sat alone and wept.   
  
Now that Thor had gone to Jotunheim to retrieve his brother, bring him safely home, Frigga feared that the time had finally come.   
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
"No!" The shout shook the room, the walls, his bones. "I will not fight you, Brother!"  
  
He could not find the right words with which to dissuade Loki, get him to relinquish the poison taken into his heart, to bring him home. His brother would not listen now, would not permit talk of their mourning mother to loosen the hold he had upon his hatred. And, Thor imagined, that if it would serve any real purpose, he would fight Loki, beat him, and drag him back home to Asgard where things would be the same once more.   
  
Between Jane's whimpers and his brother's faulty preaching, Thor could not think properly, could not devise a way with which to end Loki's staunch desire to let spill his blood. He had spent years seeking this moment, a way to become Thor's equal, to be recognized as such. But Thor could not see a man like himself, a man with dedication and understanding before him. He could only see a child, devastated by loss.   
  
Again, he held out his hand, the whites of his eyes gently turning red. "Please," he whispered, hoping vainly that Loki would accept. "Just come home..."  
  
The God of Mischief vanished then, his hand coming to close around Thor's throat as Jane began to scream again, Sif and the Warriors Three prepared to leap headlong into the fray. Lifting an arm, Thor reached behind his head, grabbing Loki by the plates of his armor, leaning forward and crying out as he flung his brother across the room and into the statue of the Jotunns' god. Ice flew from the wall, sprinkling itself over Jane who lay frozen to the altar, tilting her head back in time to see the Casket tip off the pedestal and to the ground with a heavy thud.   
  
A lance flew at him then, no more than a foot above the altar, striking Thor firm in the shoulder. The god winced, his left hand closing around the neck of the weapon, giving it a hard pull before casting it to the ground to be broken beneath the heel of a boot.   
  
Through the cloud of frost, Thor could feel the radiating heat of hatred, taking a stance as he looked down, spying the freshly slain corpse of a Frost Giant upon the ground. The beast had a spear shoved through its chest, the shaft of the weapon coated in thick black residue that appeared as paint. But the smell, he realized, drawing himself closer to it, was like that of iron. Blood.   
  
He closed his eyes in sorrow, recounting the number of corpses they had encountered upon entering the temple, the knowledge dawning upon him like the sun as it kissed the moisture of the morning grass. For reasons unknown, Loki had conquered the Frost Giants, set himself above them as king once the House of Laufey had been terminated, only to turn on them in his time of great anger, casting them all down as though they were but sick dogs.   
  
"That's more like it," Thor heard his brother say, and a rush of ice came at him, coming to collect at his hip, the hammer freezing fast.   
  
His eyes dropped, hand falling to scrape at the ice, free Mjolnir, as he was struck square in the chest, sent skidding to the floor and smacking his head hard against the ground.   
  
Loki stood over him, the black stains of the Jotunns' blood on his clothes mingling with that of his own, the heel of his boot falling against Thor's side. His lip curled and he spat, glowering at down at Thor with a strange fusion of disgust and accomplishment. It was sad to see, to admit, but Loki  _wanted_  to be acknowledged as the enemy.   
  
He gave Thor another kick, the God of Thunder groaning as he struggled to sit up, staring after his brother as he took to Jane again, a polished silver dagger seeming to materialize out of the dust and ice in the air. With a hand knotted in her hair, Loki lifted her head, the flat of the blade playing teasingly across the skin of her throat.   
  
Thor looked to him with warning in his gaze, taking hold of a hard and jagged stone, clenching it in his fist.   
  
"Are you going to cast stones at me like a child, Thor?"  
  
The God of Thunder frowned, jamming the rock against the ice that had been fastened to his hip, the shards breaking away more and more the harder he struck them. When the hammer freed and chilled, Thor growled.   
  
"Don't do this," he demanded. "It is not worth it, Brother."  
  
Loki looked ill at him, his arm raised above his head, fingers snapping together to bring down from the ceiling a flurry of icicles, all curving in their drop to fly at Thor, at his friends. A means with which to kill them quickly.   
  
The God of Thunder dropped to his knees and rolled, taking hold of Mjolnir's cold hilt and giving it a mighty swing, breaking through several of the icy daggers that continued to speed towards the others. He turned to face them, the hammer flying from his hand due to an exaggerated swing, staring in awe as Sif, her blade now drawn, charged, failing to see the the lumbering form of the Frost Giant that had crept up behind them.   
  
He cried out, and Volstagg turned, burying the point of his ax deep in the giant's gut, a great wave of blood pouring out over his hands as it bowed over, the icicles lodging themselves in the remainder of its hide as it stumbled backwards in death.   
  
Thor turned back to his brother, his eyes wide as Sif rushed him with a battle cry, Loki's attention stolen away from her as he watched the Jotunn collapse with deep satisfaction. Jane screamed, her head falling from Loki's hand as he was shoved back, the warrior's fingers clawing at his throat as she slammed him against the far wall, anger etched into her face. The god called her name and Sif turned, the rage giving way to shock as Volstagg wrenched his ax from the giant's lifeless body, looking back to Loki as his head fell back, eyes distant as Sif's blade, the tip now bloodied and buried in ice, held him fast to the wall.  
  
Heaving, Loki looked to Thor, all sound drowned out by that of his own scream as he launched himself from the floor, Sif stepping away as his brother toppled forward.  
  
Those glazed eyes of his peered down, chest rising and falling rapidly. And as Thor knelt there with his brother's body, he shook, and Loki's eyes moved to his face as they closed, as if to say, "I loved you once."


	21. Brothers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Flashback chapter.

He ran, forcing himself into a sprint as, far ahead of him, they laughed, cutting through the bushes and weaving between wide tree trunks as the race went on, his breaths heavy and shallow as he struggled to keep up. They had sprung the idea on him, all taking off long before the countdown had been finished, peering back and making faces as he struggled to reach their speeds. A hand flew to Loki's mouth as he coughed, Fandral having turned to kick a bit of dirt at him with a devious smile. He leaned over, taking to his knees as he hacked, trying to remove the foreign substance from his lungs.   
  
The sound of water reached him, his brother shouting as he tumbled into the lake, Sif laughing as she followed at his heels. Loki trudged the rest of the way through the woods, his dark brows bending to meet at the top of his nose, his pale eyes narrowed in discontent.   
  
They always did this, always played games that they knew he couldn't win. And, when the games were fair, they cheated, just like this. His brother and his friends would place bets on them, saying that the last one to the doors of the throne room would have to fetch snacks for the rest of them. Play gopher, as it were. And it seemed he was always the one.   
  
When Loki reached the edge of the water, Sif was nowhere in sight, thus worrying him. He did not trust her, didn't like the way she played, the way she always teased him. She would call him weak because he cared not for training like the rest of them, taking instead to his mother's library for books on spells rather than requesting lessons from the off-duty soldiers within the armory.   
  
He found the water coming closer as he fell, Sif's hands having shoved him over the edge and into the lake, her laughter ringing in his ears as he surfaced. Loki dropped down into the water again, taking as much of it into his mouth as he could before popping back up onto the bank and spitting it all over the front of her clothes.   
  
"Hey!" she shouted, aiming a kick at his head. He dropped into the water to avoid her, allowing himself to float on his back. "That's not nice!"  
  
Loki grimaced, moving over several feet before pulling himself back up and onto the grass. "You'd know all about being unkind now, wouldn't you, Sif?" he sneered, taking a rock and throwing it at her.   
  
The stone struck her in the arm, Sif's eyes burning as she charged him, grabbing him by the hair and forcing him to the ground. They tumbled about as Fandral laughed, cheering the girl on as she flipped Loki onto his stomach, arms pinned behind his back as she wrapped her fingers around his wrists, the sole of her boot coming to rest at the back of his skull.   
  
"And you'd know all about losing," she retorted, stepping off and bumping arms with the blond boy.   
  
Loki spat, sitting up on his rump as he hunched over, water dripping into his pale eyes as he seethed. One day, he vowed, he'd outdo Sif, outdo all of them. That way, they'd have to show him the respect that a prince like himself deserved.   
  
His brother's laugh rang through the hot summer air, cut off only by the sound of splashing as Thor struggled to lift himself out of the lake and back onto the bank. He fell back several times, spewing water out his nose as he choked and sputtered, fingers digging into the soft earth that refused to hold his solid weight.   
  
Ignoring the others as they teased, Loki crawled to where his brother hovered in the water, leaning over the edge of the bank to offer Thor his arm. When the elder prince took hold of him, struggling to lift himself up again, Loki tumbled into the water with him, taking along a large clump of dirt and grass. They surfaced, Thor laughing as Loki brushed wet dirt from his face. Having finally managed to lift himself out, Thor turned back and tugged on Loki's arm, bringing the smaller boy to rest in the grass beside him.  
  
"I'm sorry," Thor grinned sheepishly, still clinging to his brother's arm. "It was an accident."  
  
Despite being wet and having grass in his hair, Loki smiled back and nodded.   
  
His eyes lit up at the sound of singing, tugging on Thor and taking to his feet, leaving his brother behind as he barreled up the hill and towards the gardens, wet boots slapping against the cobbled pathways as he ran, coming to rest firmly in his mothers arms. She placed a hand on his small back, questioning why he was soaked and covered in dirt. Loki did not answer; just tightened his small arms around her waist as he pressed his face into the white fabric of her now dirtied dress.   
  
"You're not crying, are you?" she asked, pulling him close and taking a seat upon a nearby bench. Loki said nothing, and Frigga continued to stroke his back. "What's wrong?"  
  
"He's not fit to be a warrior," Sif chimed, having followed Thor into the garden. "A warrior must be strong, able to hold his own. Loki can't do any of that. He can't be a warrior of Asgard. He does nothing but cry!"  
  
Loki turned to look at her, to make a face, only to see that Thor had taken to shouting at her, even pushing her into the fountain as he demanded that she take back what she'd said. That, being how his brother was a prince of Asgard, she ought to have some respect, treat Loki the way she'd treat him: As a friend rather than a scapegoat. Sif struck him then, her fist colliding with Thor's jaw, and he jumped on her, yanking at her hair and causing Frigga to step in, pull the blond boy away from her with a firm scolding.   
  
As Loki looked on, he could see the split in his brother's lip as Frigga held him tightly in her arms, explaining that, no matter how angry one was, it was never appropriate to strike another. It made him smile, knowing that Sif had received the same lecture.   
  
He wandered through the gardens and up the steps to the palace, ignoring one of the servant girls as she doted on him, running to fetch him a towel and dry him off as he headed for the bath house. As he sat on the edge of the tub, removing his boots and muddy clothes, she headed off towards his chamber so as to fetch him some fresh ones. The water ran hot and clear from the spout as he turned the knob, sliding into the wide porcelain tub as it began to froth and bubble around him.   
  
He sat there brooding, trying to devise a clever way with which to get back at Sif. A way that wouldn't out him to his mother.   
  
Not yet was Loki skilled enough to conjure realistic-looking snakes, to hide them in her boots and cause her to scream. They all looked fake, like a toddler's paintings, no matter how hard he tried to give them the same consistency as the real articles. No scales, just cold, smooth skin the color of forest shrubbery. Not at all pale and marble gray as he wanted them to be. Thus far, all he could conjure were shining goldfish.   
  
The young prince waved a hand over the water, a fish the size of his hand appearing among the froth, poking its head out to look up at him, the tiny scales along its face shimmering like a rainbow following a heavy storm.   
  
Loki watched as the fish swam about in the water, hopping out and performing little tricks as he observed it fondly. If only a fish could frighten Sif, he thought.   
  
Leaning back in the water, he washed the dirt from his hair, giving himself a thorough cleaning before draining the wide tub, sitting quietly by himself as the soapy water spiraled down the drain, leaving the glittering goldfish to flop about at his feet. He reached back towards the little table in the room, realizing that the servant girl had come and gone, leaving his clothes and a towel behind. The cloth was soft against his skin, and he pulled, drawing the towel around his shoulders as he dismissed the fish with yet another wave of his hand.   
  
Drying off, Loki dressed quickly, leaving the towel upon the marble top of the small table, stepping out of the room and into the hallway where he made quickly for his own chambers.   
  
They were like to be looking for him, Sif and the others, so he ran down the halls and around corners, not stopping until he'd pushed past the doors of his room and dove into the soft comfort of his bed.   
  
On the bedside table sat his books, ancient runes littering the leather covers while others, dusty old scrolls, were tied with gentle lengths of red ribbon given him by his mother. Propping the pillows up against the carved headboard, he reached for one, thumbing through it until he had found the page he'd finished reading the night before, eyes darting across the letters as the information fed into his brain like water being sucked into a sponge.   
  
He sat there in silence until the door opened again, Thor stumbling in still covered in dirt and much, a bruise on his forehead and that same cut upon his lip.   
  
"You're filthier than before," Loki said, not looking up from his book. "What happened?"  
  
Thor stood by the bed, rolling his shoulders and sending flecks of mud to the floor from the ends of his blond hair. "When Mother left, Sif hit me again."  
  
Loki snapped the book shut, placing it on the bed and glancing to his brother. "I don't need you to protect me," he huffed angrily. "I'm not like you, going around beating things with your fists. Mother says I'm smart."  
  
Sitting down beside him, careful not to get mud on the bed covering, Thor put his arm around Loki's shoulder and smiled. "Mother's right. You're fast and clever and patient... and you don't get into trouble like I do." Thor wrapped his other arm around Loki.   
  
"You do get in a lot of trouble." The younger boy smiled, reaching a hand up and touching the side of Thor's face, scraping away the mud and plastering it to his own cheek. "But I can take care of myself."  
  
"You're my little brother, Loki. It's always going to be my job to protect you from the monsters."  
  
"No matter what, right?"  
  
Thor beamed, giving him a fond shove and a hug. "Forever."


	22. Escape To The Sea

She froze, arms settled quietly upon the cool metal as her eyes peered out across the water, running the lights of the city together like a wet canvas full of water colors. They passed her by, cars and trucks, even bikers on the sidewalk who, given the weather, ought to have been wearing far more than just helmets and athletic suits. It all looked so pristine, so lovely, to an eye more than a bit weary of war and bloodshed. The ledger, she recalled, which only served to offer black print upon white paper, the pages dripping that ruddy color that she had grown so very tired of. Natasha would rather have had sights like this one sewn into the fabric of her mind, rather than that of corpses and decay.   
  
The dim reflection of the bridge loomed high above the East River, her arms folded into the sleeves of her wool coat, struggling to keep warm. If only there were a place upon the bridge for fire pits, for couples to sit and hold each other in the light of the flickering flames, feeling safe and sound as the winter weather spiraled around them all.   
  
But, as she recalled, she was not part of that collective, not part of a matching set as she had been in the days and weeks and months before. It was with a heavy heart that Natasha admitted to herself that that, aside from teammates, she did not really have anyone.   
  
He stopped calling her around noon, ceased to leave demanding messages on her phone, leaving her in silence and loneliness. But she would not ask him to come back; not ask to be looked upon as a suspect within this dangerous game, no matter how minimal the role.   
  
Hot air slipped through her nose, vanishing into the cold, brows knitting together as she pulled the scarf tighter around her neck, tucking the longer ends back into the breast of her coat.   
  
She recalled the feeling of his hands against her, that smug smile on his face even as he leaned towards her, daring to defile her mouth with that lying silver tongue of his. Natasha snorts and spits, as if to remove that taste from her lips. An otherworldly flavor, the likes of which her mortal tongue could not describe, a scent that stuck like color to his skin, pervading her senses and reminding her of ice, of the strangely soothing smell of her clothes come warm from the dryer.   
  
It sickened Natasha to cast him out, to remember Clint and the way he's always been so like the birds he fancies; eyes sharper than the very tip of her best blade, hands strong like the talons of the eagle, and hair soft like the down feathers of a newborn chick.   
  
The assassin sighed, far less aware of her surroundings than a woman of her caliber ought to be, and she imagined that, maybe, he'd find her; come asking to sweep the whole misunderstanding under the rug, and offer her a mug of steaming chocolate.   
  
"Nat."  
  
The spider turned, the thought having barely buzzed through her skull when he suddenly stood behind her, looking sheepish as he held two cups with black lids in his gloved hands. Settling them on the railing beside her, Clint swallowed, shoulders rising as though he'd like to tuck his head inside his shirt like a turtle.   
  
Natasha said nothing.   
  
"I..." He struggled for the right words. "It was stupid of me to... to think you had any, uh, feelings for that..." Clint looked away, deciding that the laces of her boots were a much safer place to stare. "And I just wanted to say that I'm..."  
  
Her arms closed around him, the tip of her nose buried against his shoulder, the hat coming down to hide her brows. She gave him a simple "I know," and stood in silence on the bridge, now content as he held her.   
  
"I know."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
He had begged her, looking very much like a dumb puppy, if he could sit in the bathtub with a magazine while Pepper used the shower. She had declined the offer, knowing what Tony was up to and why he was suddenly so adamant in using the bathroom, pushing the door shut as he sat outside the door, saying anything he could to get her to unlock it and let him in.   
  
The mirror was heavily fogged when she stepped out, wrapping the white bathrobe around herself as she turned on the hair dryer, listening as Tony talked to JARVIS about what a pain it was that the reconstruction of Stark Tower was taking so damned long, as he much preferred having his own locking mechanisms in place so he could do whatever he damn well pleased. He also made mention of the fact that he didn't like living in a hotel suite that didn't measure up to his standards.   
  
That made Pepper smile.   
  
She spread lotion across her skin, fitting the dryer back into the wall as she unlocked the door and turned off the light, making a beeline for the bedroom before Tony could even get to his feet.   
  
Her suitcase was yanked out from beneath the bed, and Tony made a comment about how much nicer it would be to stay in the penthouse of the Tower, as she wouldn't have to sift through luggage for clothes, as they would have a perfect cherry wood dresser set against the wall, solely for her use. While the idea was appreciated, Pepper said nothing, turning away from him as, with the robe still on, she slipped on her undergarments and pajama pants, casting him a quick glance and noting how disappointed he seemed to be. She followed suit with a bra and shirt, draping the soft white fabric over her shoulders.   
  
It fell to the ground then, the red shirt having been pulled over her head already, and Tony swore, saying that, if she wanted to have children so badly, she shouldn't have been playing this stupid game with him.   
  
Pepper smiled to herself and skipped past him and down the hall, stepping into the kitchen where she retrieved a frozen dinner from the freezer, spinning around as she popped open the thin cardboard lid, shoving it into the microwave and setting the timer. Tony, having followed her again.   
  
He leaned quietly against the bar, sticking out his lower lip in an attempt to be cute or, at least, a complete brat. Pepper ignored him and began singing to herself, the microwave beeping as she swept the container out, tearing off the remainder of the lid and jamming a fork into the macaroni and cheese. She passed Tony by, giving him a smug glance before settling herself on the couch that sat beside the large window, looking out over the city.   
  
"Come  _on_ , Pepper," he whined, settling down beside her. "I'm  _bored_."  
  
She shrugged, another forkful of cheesy pasta slipping between her lips. "Do a crossword puzzle." She swallowed. "And bring me the salt, please."  
  
Tony stared at her a moment before getting up, hurrying to the kitchen for the salt as if bringing it sooner would encourage her to do what he wanted. He handed it to her, and said, "Okay. We'll each take turns giving hints. Each answer is worth one point, and whoever wins gets to decide how we spend the night."  
  
Pepper nodded. "Deal. You go first."  
  
He sad there for a moment, rubbing a hand against his chin before his eyes promptly lit up. "Okay. Three letters, and it's a very special activity that occurs only between two people who, usually, are very much in love."  
  
She gagged, choking on the macaroni as the fork fell from Pepper's hand and onto the floor.   
  
"Tony!"  
  
"Pepper!" he said, grabbing her hand. "You're the most stunning woman I've ever laid eyes on, and I've always loved you even though I pretended that I didn't; all my greatest achievements have only been possible because I always have you on my mind, uh..."   
  
Pepper stared, a faint blush coming to rest on her cheeks. "You... You've always loved me?"  
  
Tony looked a little embarrassed, but nodded.   
  
She smiled, the dinner left forgotten upon the table as she grabbed a blanket, draping it around her shoulders as she scooted closer to him on the couch. "I think that is the sweetest thing you've ever said to me, Tony Stark."  
  
He grinned, wrapping an arm around her. "So, does that mean...?"  
  
Pepper leaned in and kissed him.   
  
"No."


	23. Lullaby

The look on the queen's face as they had lumbered back through the Bifrost was one that Sif would not soon forget. She had already been weary from many sleepless nights spent pacing the halls of Odin's palace, visiting all the old places that Sif and the others had played as children, worrying for the fate of her sons, now gone to war with one another. But that look, that absolute fear that had been in her eyes as she'd caught sight of them, one with the other broken and carried on his back, was something that even a warrior like Sif would be unable to drown in ale and bloodshed.   
  
The sound of those cries had shaken her to the core, watching Frigga as she rushed towards them, taking Thor's face in her hands as she sobbed, seemingly too afraid to so much as reach for Loki, what with his eyes nearly shut and the breath escaping him with a quiet rasping sound.   
  
Sif had wrapped her fingers around the hilt of her blade then, as if to hide it from their queen, pretend that she knew not what had happened to return Frigga's sons to her in such a sad state.   
  
They had hurried off on horseback, Sif having diverted from the path to the palace to weave her horse through the rough pine needles of the forest trees, over the remnants of fallen logs and between lush green bushes, the pine cones trampled beneath her steed's hooves. She tugged on the reins, the beast coming to a stop with a steady snort as she dismounted, her boots landing firm in the ground, softened and wet after the days of storm. Sif pushed through the remainder of the low-hanging branches, her mind blank as she moved mechanically to reach the little stream that trickled down and into the lake. She sat down on a stone, looking up the stream, recalling the days as a little girl when she'd come here to play at warrior, taking a sharp stick in hand and jabbing it at trees and stones and even the fish that swam fluidly through the water.   
  
Those days were now done, the blade clasped in her gloved hand very real, very dangerous to those who did not know how to wield its power. Her dark eyes moved up and down the length of the blade, still slick with deep blood and ichor, the likes of which she had only ever dreamed of.   
  
To be sure, Sif had wished to kill him, wished to take Loki down a notch following all the misery he'd brought upon Thor. But now, as those thoughts pervaded her head, Sif was promptly ashamed, recalling that her dear friend, while still the object of her own affections, belonged to another, one who had chosen him with as much fervor as he had chosen her.   
  
Loki had saved them, Thor had said, even if it had only been to kill them himself. She had realized as much upon seeing the Jotunn shot through with ice, its dark blood running and staining the floors of the temple. He had been wrong to take them along, Thor had said. Wrong to expect that they, his dearest friends, would stand idly by as he fought his brother, seeking to save both him and precious Jane.   
  
Even so, her mistake was sure to cost them all.   
  
The warrior woman bit her lip, the pressure of her teeth making a small tear in the flesh as she drew her arm back, throwing the blade with as much force as she could muster, watching as it bowed in an arc, coming to slip through the glass-like surface of the water, the hilt dragging it down as Sif turned away.   
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Through the reaching darkness of his mind, he could hear her voice as it came through in short bursts, often far too distorted for him to make any sense of. For a time, trapped all alone in the shadows, unable to see, to know just where and when he was, he knew nothing but that overwhelming fear. The same sort that had struck his core as the reaches of space had closed in upon him, as though a great fist, far too powerful to be bothered by his own meager abilities, held him tight within its palm, seeking to drain what little hope he had left. His head was spinning, white flickers appearing behind his eyelids, and then there was only warmth, only the sound of that soothing voice that, somehow, seemed to take the edge off the staggering bite between chest and gut.   
  
So badly he wished to open his eyes, see the world that lay around him, perhaps one that was bathed in sweet morning light. But that hand, having crept into the furthest reaches of his mind, would not allow it, the fingers seeming to slip right through his skin, tightening around his spine and dragging him back into the ever-reaching dark.   
  
He bolted upright, her own eyes wide as he grew dizzy, leaning over the edge of the bed to heave, cast whatever he'd ingested onto the polished floor. She took hold of him then, her arm laid across his chest as she pulled him into her arms, her fingers working steadily through his matted hair, and Loki could feel the fever that burned beneath his skin like the fires of Muspelheim. He twisted in the sheets as she held him, her voice quiet as she sang.   
  
" _Don't cry, little child, for the dark is almost done. Don't fear, sweet child, there is no need to run. The dawn will arrest you, hold tight and caress you, as the demons fade into the morn._ "  
  
As a boy, when he would wake in the night, taken by illness or the presence of nightmares, his mother would come to him, her steps a whisper upon the palace floors, and sweep him into her arms as he cried himself to sleep again. And, all the while, she would sing, promise that no beasts could touch him here in Asgard, not so long as she lived.   
  
But it did no good, the knowledge that they would come for him, the Chitauri and now the rest of the Jotunns, easily overpowering any sense of serenity his mother may have brought.   
  
As the doors opened, he ignored them, gaze turned instead to the boring lengths of green velvet that hang from the curtain rods, drawn off to the side to allow sunlight to burn through the windows. With the light against their folds, they seemed to shine like the dazzling emeralds that lay within his mother's jewelry collection. Her fingers curled themselves into the fabric of his shirt, arms tensing against him as one of the women from the healing rooms entered with a bow, bringing with her a tome and vial of that bitter medicine.   
  
He could feel his mother's eyes narrow, sharper than the lithe silver daggers he wove out of the air, her heart pounding hard through his back as though the woman had come to steal him away. Her words held bite.   
  
"What is it?"  
  
The woman bowed again, looking rather timid as her nut brown hair, held in a curled braid by a golden tie, attempted to pardon the interruption, stating that she had been sent to ensure that the prince was alive and well.   
  
Still watching the curtain, he smiled gently as Frigga ordered her away, insisting that she come and place the vial upon the table; that she would tend to her son, and no one else. Loki looked to the girl, failing miserably to hide the fact that he found her embarrassment amusing, the look in her eyes as they turned to him that of obvious disdain. Yet another of the proud servants of Odin who thought herself above the shadow creature.   
  
She scurried out, the doors closing heavily behind her as Frigga gave no warning, taking his chin squarely in her hand, pressing the bottle to his lips. It was bitter and he gagged, the medicine having the consistency of honey, but the taste of vinegar and spice. Her cool hands slipped beneath his tunic, as if to steady him, quell the heat that raged beneath his skin.   
  
"Has Thor been here?" He did not mean to sound so weak, so hopeful.   
  
"Yes."  
  
Of course he had. Tender Thor could not stay away, leave well enough alone. He was the reason Loki was here, trapped like a rat in a cage when he ought to have been left to die in the cold wastes of Jotunheim. By saving him, bringing him home, Thor had only shamed him, given Asgard's great enemy another chance with which to destroy them. And destroy them he would.   
  
"And Father...?"  
  
Loki no longer wished to call the Allfather such, but would not dare call the god by name while in his mother's presence. It would only serve to heighten her sorrow, dishonor the family she believed could be pieced back together. A truly vain hope, but one he would allow her to continue believing in.   
  
Her silence was enough to suggest that, yes, he had come, but he had not lingered long. Not that Loki had expected anything different.   
  
For that reason alone, he could not stay, would not stay; would not allow himself to be subjected to Odin's wrath. In his anger, the Allfather had cast his brother out, left him on that ball of dirt to suffer, the hammer within reach and unattainable. But to remain and allow Odin to decide the proper merit for his crimes would be far worse. Loki had enlisted the aid of the Chitauri, stolen the Tesseract, waged rampant war upon one of Midgard's greatest cities, killed thousands of their people. He had rebelled against his father before judgment, escaped Asgard with the Casket, conquered and betrayed the Jotunns, sent them to kill his brother, the Avengers, to take possession of Midgard. Surely, the Allfather would not take kindly to such things, grievous as they were.   
  
And, just as Thor had been stripped of his power, perhaps Loki would lose his craft, his spells. The one thing in which, when compared to Thor, he was superior.  
  
He would not have it. Loki would leave Asgard as soon as possible.   
  
"You will stay."  
  
"No," he breathed, twisted in her arms, but Frigga would not let go. She knew what dark thoughts were conjured in his head. She was sure to have seen them long before this. "No, I..."  
  
With a gentleness, a firmness, that only a mother could offer, she held him tighter, her fingers straying to his cheek, and she said again, "You will stay..."  
  
Loki had no breath with which to argue, and she began to sing again.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
He knelt before her as she parted the doors of the healing room, the cut on her cheek having been whisked quietly away as though it had never once existed. Her skin was bright and rosy again, eyes soft and calm as he took hold of her hand, planting a feathery kiss upon its back as she stood there, watching him. Jane no longer had the scent of fear about her, her long brown hair holding tight to that of honey, fresh warm grass bathed in the light of the sun. He smiled, standing as she took hold of his arm, whispering that, all along, she had known that he would come for her.  
  
Thor feigned a smile, conflicted. It was fortunate that his brother had wavered, taken the time to eliminate the Frost Giant rather than Jane. Fortune, and a shame. A shame that the moment spared for Thor and his friends had led to a homecoming like this. The prince sighed in silence to himself as he thought, their mother's cries ringing in his ears, how angered Loki would be to know that he'd been brought home in such a compromised state. And their father... What would their father have to say about all this?  
  
He attempted to look cheery, Jane sweeping him down the hall, her hand held tight in his as she asked to see his city, his world. Thor hurriedly leading her towards the stables, taking her the long way through his mother's gardens so that she might see as much of Asgard's wonder as possible. Jane passed beside the flower beds, patterned red and white, her eyes wide and shining with awe as Thor tugged her gently along and down the steps.   
  
At the gate into the city, the horses stood as if in waiting, one of the beasts white as driven snow, its hooves clacking against the ground as it approached, Thor's hand rubbing across its muzzle. With large eyes, it looked to Jane, and she to him as he lifted her up and into the saddle, settling in behind her. With the reins in hand, Thor set the horse in motion and into the heart of Asgard, the glittering buildings passing by as they rode, Jane's hair flowing over his shoulder as he slipped the leather cord in between her fingers. With one arm around the waist, he held her, soon letting the reins go all together and allowing her to maintain control of the galloping beast.   
  
They slowed to a stop as her phone let off a jingle, the horse breathing heavily as Jane reached into her pocket, withdrawing her cell phone.   
  
"It works!" she exclaimed, turning to show him. "I didn't know you had cell service here!"  
  
Thor looked at her quizzically, as he did not understand just how cellular phones had servants, the phone screen changing as Jane selected the camera, promptly blacking out as the battery died. She slumped forward in defeat, resting her forehead against the horse's mane, groaning as the phone was slipped into the front pocket of her hoodie. He dismounted and reached up, taking hold of Jane and bringing her to rest beside him on the ground, an arm around her shoulders as he steered her around the marketplace in which they found themselves.   
  
There were sweet-smelling meals, the likes of which, based solely upon Jane's expression, did not exist upon Midgard. The phone forgotten, she darted around to each of the shops, peering in the windows and breathing in the scents as Thor, having turned to perusing through fine silk dresses, reached for his coin purse, offering the woman at the stand far more than necessary as he swept one off the racks with a smile. The garment in hand, Thor sought out Jane in the small crowds of the marketplace, coming up behind her as she browsed through a set of ancient tomes, draping the dress over her shoulder with an observant look.  
  
"Do you like it?" he asked, eyes moving from the blue silk to Jane's face. He thought it looked rather nice with the green in her eyes, the lithe golden thread bringing out the amber sheen in her hair.   
  
Jane looked to him with astonishment, her hand taking hold of the fabric with a smile. "It's beautiful."  
  
Thor nodded. "Then it is yours. As is anything else your heart may desire."  
  
She smiled, taking his hand and walking with him back to the horse's side. "Just let me stay here, teach me of your world, a while longer."


	24. Penitence

In the days that followed, he found himself placed like a prisoner before Odin's throne, the guards flanking him on either side as the rest of them stood quietly upon the dias, their eyes all upon him. He looked to them, openly defiant, even with his mother, nearly in tears, standing beside the Allfather. Thor's gaze fell upon him, his arm wrapped securely around Jane's waist as though he would attempt to steal her away again. Any amusement gained from the thought was promptly lost, the ache seeping through his bones again, the steel of the cuffs biting into his wrists. Loki looked to Odin, obviously displeased, and made public the play that he thought this all to be but a game.   
  
The god trembled as he got to his feet, gnarled hand wrapped around the neck of the spear. It seemed that, since the time of his brother's would-be coronation, dear Odin's strength had waned significantly.   
  
His mother's hand rested on the god's arm, her eyes pleading with Loki, for she knew what would come. The Allfather stood straight as he could, his one eye gleaming.   
  
"My son," the god said slowly, "why have you betrayed your father, your king, so?"  
  
Loki scowled, content to take his time with an answer, rolling on his shoulders, as if to flaunt what little freedom he'd been allotted. He had never liked being made a spectacle, even in the presence of very few, but here he was, the dark prince himself as the center of attention. It had been much more pleasurable being in the seat of power rather than on his knees before it.  
  
It mattered not to him that they, the people of Asgard, would watch him with sorrow, disdain, fear, following the judgment. He would easily become what they had always feared. He would revel in the power given to him; the power to strike darkness into their minds as they turned to cower.  
  
His mother, lovely Frigga, appeared more distraught as he let the silence drag on. The shadow beneath her eyes darker and face far more flushed than when her precious Thor had gone astray. It was rather satisfactory. But, were he to say here that he had been pushed to this, forced to take Midgard by storm, she would only shake her head and dismiss that as a lie. The dear goddess would insist, yet again, that his own actions had become his defining attribute.  
  
He spared a glance at Sif, looking relatively uncomfortable as she stood in silence with the Warriors Three, the blade that had hung at her side now gone, the sheathe empty. It seemed she had finally broken. Loki's pale eyes moved to Thor, the God of Thunder mutely urging, even begging, him to take the safe way out; to willingly confess his crimes before their king, take responsibility, accept the softened blow of Odin's wrath.  
  
Silvertongue looked back to the Allfather, allowed himself to stand tall and proud. He smiled, teeth gleaming as he laughed, openly mocking the god.   
  
"He dares ask why," the prince sneered loudly, and Frigga's eyes grew wide, "when he knows, full and well,  _that I have no father here._ "  
  
The butt of the spear struck the floor, Odin's arm pulled from the queen's grasp, seemingly at a loss for words, even as his head appeared full of flame and smoke. The others exchanged confused glances, Thor's own expression wild and dangerous as he left Jane's side, coming to remove the guards and take Loki by the collar. His brother said nothing, just glowered at him, daring him to let slip the words, the lie, that had been guarded by the Allfather for the whole of Loki's life. He smiled knowingly, threateningly, and Thor growled.   
  
" _Don't._ "  
  
Loki peered around his brother's head, the flush on Frigga's cheeks gone, her skin stained with heavy red, eyes watering even as she cast her gaze to the ground.   
  
The Allfather turned away from him, attention upon the guards, upon the Lady Sif and the Warriors Three, waving a hand with which to dismiss them from the room. The guards left with more eagerness than the rest, the warriors passing him by with slow steps, curious looks, and, in Sif's case, great suspicion. But he waited them out, closed his eyes until the heavy doors were shut again, leaving their so-called family, and poor misplaced Jane, alone within the great, decorated hall.   
  
Loki had never seen the walls, nor the elaborate paintings upon the ceiling, appear quite so bright and lively.  
  
How he'd waited for this.   
  
"Are you so ashamed of your lies, Allfather, that you cannot bear witness to them before even your most faithful of subjects?"  
  
Thor shook him rather unnecessarily, and far harder than he needed to gain Loki's undivided attention.   
  
"Are you mad?" he demanded, his grip tightening on Loki's collar. "To make mention of our father's..."  
  
"Lies? Shame?" Loki retorted, unbridled mirth dancing in his eyes. "It seems only fitting that I would know something of lies, is it not so, Thor?"  
  
Thor shoved him backward, leaving Loki to catch himself on the heel of his boot as he returned to Jane with a series of deep, shuddering breaths. She pulled him to her, the light blue dress that hung across her form folding him into her arms, his head coming to rest gently upon her small shoulder. Draped in Asgardian silk, she did appear as one of them, a being with power that the mortal realm could not even begin to fathom. But, if the Aesir only knew the truth of their golden prince, that the heir to their king's polished throne had deigned to partner with a soft and mortal woman, they would surely come to resent Thor, as well.   
  
Loki snickered, rolling his tongue across the smooth surfaces of his teeth, delighted at the way Jane watched him warily, her hand rubbing small, comforting circles through the red fabric of his brother's cape.   
  
"Lies," he said again, the word familiar, like nectar upon his silver tongue. He began to pace, eyes cast to the throne. "We are all such pathetic creatures, are we not? A family, as you say, made up of nothing but falsehoods. A king, gone to war to enforce his beloved peace, who brings home the child of his great enemy, raises him as his own, gives him a name and calls him son. A queen, the loving mother and seer of the future, who always knew what days would come to pass, always knew of the lies woven by her king; who stood back and in the shadows, never giving life to but a word of the truth." His gaze hardened as it swept over Frigga, her guilt evident in the way her fingers clung to the sleeves of her dress. She would not look at him. "Asgard's beloved warrior prince, banished to Midgard so that he may be taught a lesson, only to fall madly in love with a mortal woman, hold vain hope for a future that they cannot have." Whatever smile had held upon Loki's face vanished, the palms of his hands staring back up at him. A moment, and they seemed to flash blue. "And the trickster, the beginning of this great and marvelous lie, ever oblivious to all the signs of the craft in which he excels." He looked back to Odin. "Is it not so?"  
  
Odin, all anger having vanished, returned the look with his own, lacking anything but unadulterated shame. He appeared about to speak, quiet breaths escaping parted lips, but balked, shifting his jaw and running a hand through his beard, now even paler white than before. Frigga still refused his gaze, eyes moist and cast to the floor, perhaps at his feet. Thor continued his trembling, and dear Jane had lost all malice, as if having realized that she could have no such life with the son of the Allfather.  
  
Loki straightened. "You brought me here for judgment, did you not? Were you hoping for penitence, Father?"  
  
The fire returned to the Allfather's eye, if only by sheer force of will. Gungnir was held firm in his hand now, and Loki recalled the thrill of wielding such a weapon; the power of a king.  
  
"Punish me, then," he challenged. "Surely, I have given you much time with which to think."  
  
"Father," Thor promptly knelt before the throne, the hammer placed before him with a thud, and Loki scowled, feeling abruptly ill again. What in the name of Hel was he doing? "I ask that you please allow me to take my brother's place." All breath was drained from the room. "It is my arrogance, my lack of consideration for those around me, that drove my brother to this evil."  
  
The room flashed bright as the sun, the walls and floor and ceiling coming to mash themselves together, the colors weaving as though they'd been thrown out to sea, churned among the roiling waves and foam as storms raged, and vomited back onto the shore. There was a sound, hard and perhaps hollow as he staggered back, the breath pushed from his lungs as that sharp pain shot through him again, bright flashing light pulsing hard behind his eyes as sweat began to bead on his forehead. She was beside him again, having run down the stairs, his head resting in her lap as she shushed his senseless, manic whispers, fingers scrabbling unconsciously at the cuffs that bound his hands.   
  
Loki pushed her away, taking to his feet quickly as he could to get at Thor. He took hold of his brother, shoving him to the floor, a knee pressed hard into his chest as Loki growled.  
  
"Enough!" Thor never could keep to his own affairs. "I don't need you...! I don't need my fool brother to protect me!"  
  
There was a sound in his head, distant, indistinct, like that of a fly passing by his ear. He ignored it.  
  
He had told Thor for years, yelled at him again and again, that he didn't need a protector; that he was capable of taking care of himself; that he could stand steadily on his own two feet without being held up like a helpless, newborn foal. He shook Thor, his brother's head smacking the floor with solid thuds as though his skull would soon be rent in two. But Thor only stared at him, a knot in his throat as he spoke with those blue eyes.  
  
Loki heard the sound again, a child's voice, clear this time.  
  
 _"You're my little brother, Loki. It's always going to be my job to protect you from the monsters. Forever."_  
  
His own thoughts wrestled with the words, insisting that  _he_  was the enemy, the monster in all this; demanding to know how in the name of Yggdrasil, of Valhalla, Thor intended to protect him from the monster that was himself.  
  
He seethed, immediately moving to direct that bitter glare to their father, as if to elicit some manner of response.  
  
Yet, even with the two of them near to drawing blood at the foot of his throne, Odin said nothing.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
Everywhere one looked, the newspapers and magazine covers were splashed with imagery of the wreckage, the great concern that, because of the new invaders, Times Square would not be repaired before the dropping of the ball on New Year's Eve. To people like Natasha, that was the last thing to worry about, let alone the oncoming Christmas holiday, which had snuck up on the city without so much as a genuine warning.   
  
Needless to say, Director Fury had not been pleased upon learning that Thor had left without but a word, and it had been very out-of-character for the likes of Tony Stark, being such a hero in his own narrow mind, to take responsibility for allowing him to go. Though, as she had watched on, Natasha had been given the silent idea that that had not been the way of things.   
  
Something had prompted Tony to lie.  
  
The team had convened nearly every day since Thor's departure, doing their utmost to piece together that which they knew of the Frost Giants. Immense strength and durability, the power to wield masses of ice as deftly as the god did his hammer. But the real problem had still remained: Why had they come, and what purpose did they serve?  
  
It had been established only that morning, as most of the meetings had been spent listening to the Director as he bellowed about their lack of teamwork, and the idea that they all needed to get over their little grudges, that the giant Natasha had managed to speak with had made mention that their king was Asgardian. A statement which was very easily deciphered as being a reference to, as Tony now had a penchant for calling him, "Thor's raging douchebag of a brother."  
  
The phrase "divide and conquer" shot through her head as she skimmed the dull front page of the paper through the glass, slipping a few quarters into the machine and yanking it out, tearing a hole in the article. He had run, she recalled, upon being confronted by Thor, taken off as though having been claimed by the blizzard wind, whisked away to she knew not where. It had been strange to turn back and see Loki missing, rather than with his hands at Thor's throat, blood sticking to his fingers the way she knew he wanted. But now, staring at the paper, Natasha thought that, perhaps, he had run not out of fear, but the desire to coerce his brother to follow, separate the Avengers the way he had told her the plan had been.   
  
If so, it had worked. And here the rest of them were, on Earth, playing jigsaw puzzle with the scraps of information held in their grasp, while their only true source of knowledge regarding the Jotunns was off trying to save the woman he loved.   
  
The paper flew out of her hands then, the wind having blown through the streets, sending hats and scarves off and away, the sound of a low growl shooting through her head.   
  
Natasha grimaced, feeling the chill behind her, and she spun, the guns in hand as she fired off several rounds, piercing the giant's blue-gray flesh, leaving holes. It roared, charging at her as the sound of breaking concrete reached her, Natasha's head turning in time to see another tear a streetlight out of the ground, swinging it into the glass of a nearby book store on the corner.   
  
The assassin swore, a sharp bit of ice streaking across the skin of her cheek, drawing blood. She jumped back, the giant's arm, now coated in ice like a mace, slammed into the ground beside her as people screamed and more of them appeared in the scattering crowds.   
  
Where in the world, she then wondered, loading another clip, was Thor?


	25. Sticks And Stones

Up and down Loki stalked the halls, wandering about past guards and servants and up stairs until he didn't know which way was north, from which direction he'd initially come. He dwelt upon the fact that Odin had said nothing for the whole of the supposed judgment, save those few infuriating words, then recalling the guard and casting a hand to the cuffs that had bound him. They had been removed with a swiftness that Loki had believed impossible for any but himself. And he knew not why.   
  
He should have been cast out, stripped of his craft and sentenced to endure upon the cold wastes of Jotunheim; burn in the fires of Muspelheim. Something, anything, that he and the rest of Asgard would look upon as horrendous punishment, the sort fitting for a traitor and a murderer. But the fire in that weary eye had not been what any of them had expected. It had been nothing more than smoke, an obvious lack of conviction. Perhaps the banishment of his real son had been enough to make the Allfather soft.   
  
It angered him, not only that they would dare lie, but play at being family, pretend that he was anything but the monster stolen swiftly from the lingering hand of death. Would they not acknowledge him as a threat, then it would have been best for Odin to have left him there in the dark, allowed a supposedly innocent child to die in cold blood.   
  
His hand curled, and Loki found himself hidden in the soft red fabric of a wide curtain, Thor's chambers. Of course, in his anger, he would gravitate to the territory of the one who had shamed him, consistently humiliated him. Whatever plan Thor's slow mind had concocted, Loki would have no part of it. He needed no protector, and intended to prove it.   
  
The doors opened slowly as his brother returned, Jane absent from his arm as he settled into a chair, presumably in some spell of deep thought. As Loki stepped from behind the curtain, Thor stood, wide-eyed and solemn-looking, as though he had anticipated some sort of antagonistic behavior.  
  
Needless to say, he was correct.   
  
"Why would you do that?!" Loki demanded, and took easily to shoving his brother like a child. Thor stepped back and said nothing. "I told you not to! I've told you a thousand times that I  _don't_  need your help, and still you insist! Why are you always so bent on humiliating me?!"  
  
Sure as Loki himself was the devil, Thor was a coward and would not answer him; would not grant him even the slightest bit of respite while he was trapped in Asgard with these tumultuous thoughts of his. Loki shook him again, and Thor's mouth pressed itself into a thin line. Again the God of Thunder was shoved, this time toppling over backwards as his cape caught beneath the heel of his boot, sending the both of them to the floor with the chair that Thor had quickly grabbed as means of support. The wood struck with a loud clatter, an evident split appearing in the dark finish of the arm, gaping as though, at any given moment, it would begin to bleed.   
  
Even angry as he was, it was a bit of a shock as Loki imagined that the split should have been peering through Thor's golden hair.  
  
Thor pushed back, sent him skidding across the floor and to the wall, charging across the room in time to catch him, hold him fast by the collar.   
  
"Would you rather that Father send you to die?! Do you not understand the chaos you have wrought; the lives you have destroyed?!" The elder prince's face seemed to soften then, his sky blue eyes appearing deep as the sea as he let go. His hands moved to Loki's shoulders. "Do not ask me to endure the sight of my brother's death sentence."  
  
What could he say to that? What possible bite could he put into words that would rid Thor of this useless sentimentality? He knew now, like the rest of them, what Loki was, what he had done, what he was willing to do. And still they coddled him, behaving as though he were nothing more than a lost little boy, struggling to find his way through the halls in the dead of night. As if he did not know right from wrong; as if he did not know the damage wrought. As if he would have a sudden change of heart, embrace them all for holding to the lie that their family had always been; forgive them for keeping him in the shadows all this time. Thor was exempt from all that, for he had been just as blind. But for their parents to expect such a pardon... Thus far, it was unthinkable.   
  
Thor could not lie. He was talented as Odin in his glory days in the ways of war, hunting, tracking, the proper use of armor and weaponry. But Thor, pure and foolish as he was, had no talent as a liesmith. The God of Thunder was better suited to butchery and insolence.   
  
So perhaps he had meant the words spoken. Perhaps he didn't want to stand by and endure as Loki was sent away, more likely than not, to face death. But it would change nothing. He didn't need help, he didn't need saving. And he sure as hell didn't need a protector.  
  
His brother clung to him, broad hand at the back of Loki's head as though he'd pull him into his arms the way he'd done when Loki had been no taller than a step stool. He had fallen often, sometimes against the corners of stones in the courtyard, against the foot of a bed, or even face first onto the floor, splitting his lip or cutting himself in the process. And, every time, Thor had come running, yelling as his eyes looked far too large for his round face, pulling Loki against him as he had cried.   
  
It was strange to think on that, as Loki had never been particularly nostalgic.  
  
"I only ever wanted to protect you, Brother."  
  
"Liar!" he snapped, and Thor promptly recoiled. "You led them, Thor, all of them! Encouraged them to play your little games because you knew, somewhere in your heart, that there was something  _wrong_  with me!"  
  
As long as he could remember, they had followed Thor, willing to do as he did, do as he had told them. There had never been any explanation for that, only the knowledge that they had, and always would, mimic his brother and his bad behavior. When Thor had fought against him, even in practice, they would laugh when he fell, play their pranks and run away, always eager to leave him behind. They hadn't been pleased when he'd caught up, learned crafts that served well to frighten them in the night, sway their blades one way when they'd been meant to go the other. They had looked down on him, the trickster, no longer playing their games, but speaking words of malice behind his back.   
  
It had been nothing short of torment. The furthest thing from protection when coming from a brother.  
  
"But now," he laughed, the sound forced, "now that you've dragged me home, permitted all of them to see what I was always meant to become... They fear me. Your friends, your parents, your Asgard, all fear me. Never have I had such command until now. Never have they seen me as anything but a joke, your tag-along, your  _shadow_. They were never mine, Brother..."  
  
Not even his mother.  
  
"Do you remember," Thor said, slow and steady, "what you said to me the night I first returned from Midgard?" He gave Loki a shake, as if to jog his memory. "That you never wanted the throne. That you only ever wanted to be..."  
  
" _Your equal?!_ " Loki shoved him away, hard. "Tell me, Thor. How long did it take for those words to reach you? Before I was cast into oblivion, or after? Before you found yourself a home upon Midgard, or when I sought you out?" His eyes moved to the doors, suddenly open as Frigga stood watching them. He wondered just how much she had seen and heard. Loki gestured with a hand as if dismissing his own questions. "It doesn't matter now. As I told you once, Odinson, I have grown, as have my desires. This is not about standing on equal ground." Loki grimaced. "I mean to grind you into dust."  
  
She choked, hands clapped over her mouth and Thor flinched, coming at him again, hands balled into tight fists.   
  
"Enough!" he bellowed, Loki's head caught under his arm. Perhaps a part of the bag of tricks he'd learned watching mortal wrestling. "You will not speak that way in front of our mother!"  
  
Loki squirmed in his grasp, twisting around to catch Frigga's gaze with his own. He scowled, clawing at Thor's hand. " _Your_  mother!" the trickster barked, and he knew that the words would cut her, further anger Thor. He just couldn't bring himself to care.   
  
It burned him then, the fire in his blood, as Thor let him go, grabbing him by the sleeve to swing him, forearm quickly slamming Loki back into the wall like a steel vice against his chest. He coughed, ignoring Frigga as she crumpled steadily, almost in slow motion, to the floor. That throbbing pain coursed through him again, steady like the beating of the war drums, bitter taste running down the back of his throat.  
  
"You should have killed me when you had the chance! You've had more than one!" And that undeniable urge to drive a dagger between his brother's ribs surfaced again.  
  
Thor held him there for a time, each staring the other down as though trying to read between the heavily lined pages of a book. Loki made no move, did not laugh or smile or shoot off the snide remarks that flowed from mind to ice the tip of his tongue. He did not look away, pay any mind to the heat that came to his cheeks as Frigga dared to face him again. Staring straight ahead, he dared Thor to say something, to challenge his words. They both knew them to be true; both knew that, more than once, the gentle prince of Asgard had considered putting his brother to rest.   
  
Loki fell forward as Thor pulled away, his knees hitting the floor hard, catching himself on his hands, heaving. Her footsteps came, touch cool as one arm circled around his back as his heart threatened to pound a hole through his chest.  
  
"What of my friends?" he heard his brother say, and realized that Heimdall had come.  
  
"They are at war," the Gatekeeper replied, grim as usual. "They combat the giants of Jotunheim."  
  
The golden prince turned on him then, marching back across the room with a few long strides, hand trembling at his side as though he'd very much like to slap Loki in the face.   
  
"You let them in." It was not a question.   
  
Loki snickered, suddenly ashamed to have his mother on his arm, leaning him back against the wall as he teetered on his feet. "Well, of course I let them in. How else would the Jotunns make their way to precious Earth? The Bifrost, perhaps?" He glanced to Heimdall, and the Gatekeeper appeared to leer back. "Or maybe, there are other ways..."  
  
"Enough with your games, Brother!" Thor roared, but he made no move to usher Frigga away.   
  
" _Games_? You think this is just a game, do you?" A laugh. "I already told you, Brother. I mean to grind you all into dust. Not just you, and not just Asgard. Your little Avengers will follow."   
  
The God of Mischief had not expected him to react so violently, to have the nerve with which to strike him in the presence of their mother. But there it was, the echo of the impact ringing in his head, pale eyes wide as his teeth rattled, blood upon his tongue. Loki looked to Thor in distaste, Frigga's grip on his arm tightening as though she could hold him back, and the elder prince turned quickly on his heel, giving instruction to Heimdall to prepare the Bifrost while he went about to recruit his friends.   
  
Loki's head smacked the wall as he leaned back, fixating his gaze on some unknown point opposite him in the room as Frigga said nothing, leaning against his shoulder.   
  
So clearly she wanted to say something, ascertain as to whether or not Loki had meant those things he'd said. But she remained silent, fingers trailing through the ends of his hair, his mind made up.   
  
He would apologize for nothing.   
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
The street was cool, even beneath the fabric of his uniform, seeping through the holes as he lay still, stars buzzing around his head as he blinked. There was blood seeping from the gash in his head through the fine hairs of his eyebrow; he could feel it, warm against his skin. He'd tried shifting before, tried to lift the monster away, but his bones had only cracked further, perhaps broken, from the weight, and Steve was left to lie beneath the corpse of an eight-foot giant.   
  
He breathed slowly, seeking to remain calm, remember that panic was the quickest way to death. He needed to think, take in his surroundings, understand what was going on and in which direction, to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention to himself.   
  
From here, he could hear them, rockets launching and exploding, the Hulk's tremendous battle cries, and the assassins as they fired off round after round, causing the beasts to writhe in pain. The sound of screaming citizens had stopped, and Steve thanked the heavens. Surely, there would be civilian casualties, but the less people who died, the better. And not only for his conscience.   
  
He was a soldier, a man having fought in what could perhaps be named as the world's most vicious war. He had become somebody, a man capable of saving life rather than standing by as it was so easily destroyed. And yet, he lay there in a crater in the street, steadily crushed by the unknown weight of a giant having come from a realm across the expanse of space. Though Steve could only smile to himself, wondering what his comrades in the war would have said were they to hear tell that he'd joined a team of otherworldly heroes to fight off an invasion from space. He imagined that they'd have laughed, called him crazy.   
  
His eyes closed, and he thought of happier times, wondering if this was where he had been meant to die. Perhaps he'd been chosen to survive only the war of his time, to come here and lay down in death while the city around him burned. If so, it certainly wasn't fair. But the world didn't operate on a basis of what was and wasn't equal.   
  
"Come on, Cap, wake up!"  
  
Tony's voice rang through his head and Steve looked up, not even realizing that he'd dozed off in the midst of his reverie.   
  
In an instant the giant was gone, thrown off to the side by the iron suit, and Steve made a mental note to remember that, as Tony had insisted on more than one occasion, that it was made of a titanium alloy. Whatever the hell that translated to in layman's terms. He was pulled to his feet then, suddenly light headed as Tony's arm wrapped around him, holding him up.   
  
"What's happened?" he asked, suddenly feeling sleepy. "Where'd they all come from?"  
  
They lifted off the ground then as Tony scoffed.   
  
"Hell, Cap. If I knew, I'd just throw another damn rocket in there, and blow 'em all up." The air rushed past as they flew, and Steve's head lolled. "Don't worry about them. Just... shut up."  
  
The Captain smiled, hoping that, when he came to again, there would still be a city to save.


	26. Come Meet The Wolves

They howled, a sound louder than the blizzard wind rushing into her ears, stronger than the lightning that threatened to strike at her feet. She jumped, the open window of a taxi cab door passing her by as though it were a hula hoop, one of the giants having taken a liking to her, determined to splatter her across the white sidewalk. Touching down on the ground again, Natasha slipped, failing to notice the thin patch of black ice on the street, legs sliding apart as she toppled over, the gun falling from her hand.   
  
It was kicked away by the giant, the sound of metal echoing as it flipped into a sewer drain. She grimaced, eye suddenly catching hold of the thin black line that buzzed through the air, lodging itself in the giant's neck as it turned. The arrow went off and the assassin covered her head, not at all eager to be covered in Jotunn blood and insides. Clint's hand grabbed her by the wrist, hoisting her up and turning his head wildly around.   
  
"Where the hell is your...?"  
  
"Forget it," she snapped back, yanking an arrow out of his quiver. Until she found something more suitable, it would do. Natasha had a sneaking suspicion that Frost Giants weren't partial to having arrowheads jammed into their eyes. "Where the hell is Stark?"  
  
The bowstring went off with that low sound, his back pressed to hers as another giant, as well as a rather beat up little Volkswagen Beetle, promptly blew up down the next street. "Went after Rogers," he said, and they hurried across the sidewalk, looking warily down every block. "Said he'll be back as soon as he can."  
  
Natasha rolled her eyes, yanking the bow from Clint's hand and firing off her arrow, striking an unsuspecting giant in the back as it crashed through an empty shop window, bursting into pieces of black sludge and frost as glass skittered across the street. He scowled at her, taking it back with a dark comment about the last time someone had taken his bow and broken it in two. She shoved him, insisting that, just because Thor didn't know how to handle his weaponry, didn't mean she was the same.   
  
"Thor," she pointed out, "can't even answer a goddamn cell phone!"  
  
As if on cue, the sky above them roiled, the dark clouds seeming to curl in on themselves as light flashed, a pillar of frost and swirling smoke shot towards them. Natasha shouted, giving Clint a shove as she dove after him and out of the way. She rolled on the ground, the ice sticking to her leather suit as she looked up, staring into the great red beard of a man who appeared to have walked out of a medieval festival. If not Comic Con. He reached down, taking her by the hand and heaving her to her feet, Thor beaming as he stood at the man's side, giving the hammer a mighty swing with which to send it through a Frost Giant that, in the confusion, had thought it a wise idea to sneak up on them.   
  
Natasha stood speechless, turning to watch Clint weave in and out of the small group, inspecting the strangers that accompanied their friend. He raised a brow at the dark-haired man, who looked very grim if not sleepy, and the snickering blond who reminded the assassin quite a bit of the womanizing Errol Flynn, particularly when he smiled and winked at her. The Black Widow found herself very entertained when the only woman in the group gave him a hearty shove and a slap for the gesture, as if recognizing that Natasha did not appreciate it.   
  
Thor stood with his arm raised, the hammer promptly returning to him as he looked to her, the excitement in his eyes having vanished.   
  
"Is my brother here?"  
  
Natasha fought off the urge to gag at the question, very pleased that she had not seen Loki through the whole of this battle, as she probably would have torn his head off and enjoyed doing so. Instead she shook her head, biting the inside of her cheek as Clint appeared at her side.   
  
"We're missing Stark and the Captain, too," she said. The thunder god stared at her quizzically, and Natasha quickly added, "Rogers got hurt."  
  
Thor nodded, motioning to each member of the group, the hammer still clasped tight in his hand. "Natasha Romanoff, Clint Barton, I would like for you to meet my friends: The Warriors Three, Hogun, Fandral, Volstagg, and the Lady Sif."  
  
Fandral smiled slyly at her again, and Natasha had the sudden urge to drive her fist through his face. Maybe it was that, with such an expression, he reminded her of Loki. But, feeling Clint's hand tighten around her wrist, she noted that he wasn't too fond of the warrior's friendliness either. With his great beard seeming to bounce, Volstagg took hold of her hand and bowed slightly, an ax held tightly in his other as he hoisted it onto his shoulder without a word, promptly taking off down the street towards another giant as he let loose a battle cry.   
  
The others soon followed suit, weapons drawn and shouting as the giants took notice of them. Thor stood with his eye upon his warrior friends, face looking fierce as he seemed to glow with power.   
  
"I am sorry," he said to her and Clint, "for all the trouble I have brought upon your world. If I had but handled my brother sooner, your people would not be dying."  
  
Natasha smiled sadly, nudging his arm. "Well, we did help piss him off." She laughed. "Though it's mostly Tony's fault."  
  
Thor's eyes radiated gratitude, the hammer grip slipping through his hand as he stood up straight, prepared for war.   
  
"My friends, I give you my word that, today, we will end this madness."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
The stairs were cold beneath his backside, the torches having been put out by the ice that slipped from his hand. It had been some time since he'd used the Casket to call forth frost, having learned along the way to summon it at will. Yet, as Loki sat there in the gloom, he resented the ability, wished he could turn back the hands of time to a point before he'd thought to master the skill. He couldn't use it without remembering everything, seeing himself in this room as Odin had fallen.   
  
His hand grazed the step, the cold of the concrete wasted. Loki was numb, only having room in his mind for disdain as he stared down at the pedestal across the chamber, the blank surface looking right back. The lines in the stone were no longer colored that iridescent blue, but stark and gray as though they'd never once been brought to life with light. The phantom lingered in his gaze, his own silhouette seeming to appear before the pedestal, hands trembling as he lay them upon the Casket, hoping with all he had that the trick on Jotunheim had been just that. His sleeve had nearly come off in the giant's grip, the silver studs dropping to the ground like coin, the dark fabric shooting off in scraps as his hand had turned swiftly blue. Even the beast had seemed astonished at this, unsure of what to think in the fleeting seconds before he was run quickly through.   
  
So why, if Odin had lied to him for all of his life, hadn't he kept on, allowed Loki to believe that, somehow, he'd been the victim of a curse?  
  
The prince found himself stalking down the corridor, peering at the rest of the relics, wondering if any of them had any part in another great lie. He scowled, coming to stand before the gateway that led to the Destroyer. There had been such disappointment as Thor had been struck down, only for Mjolnir to rise, return to him, save him. Perhaps, had Loki ended him before his touching little monologue, before he had decided to lay down his life for his friends and the mortals, there would be no need for this regret. He could have easily claimed that Thor's mortal form had been struck down by the human government.  
  
Behind him, the doors opened, that scent coming to snake through the air. The Allfather had always had that about him, the uncanny smell that had always reminded Loki of the fresh air in the morning following a billowing snow storm.   
  
Loki stood, half expecting the gateway to open, the Destroyer to step out and end him. But Odin's voice did not echo, for he made no such call. He did not speak at all, just kept on breathing.   
  
He looked the part of an old and weary king, Loki thought, turning to spare him a glance. White hair seeming to fall out, bones peering through skin that was almost paper thin, creases upon his face, and a tired eye looking back at him as if to say something without words. The prince was content to remain silent, collect himself before he fell apart again, and he began to count, found himself nearing three-thousand when a breath slipped past Odin's lips, grew into words.   
  
"You remember," he said, as though they had stood within this chamber so very long ago, "don't you?"  
  
Loki wanted to shout back, make him writhe, make him crumble as he had done before. He wouldn't care now if the king of Asgard fell, even in death. It had frightened him before, to see the man he had called father slip into the Odinsleep before his very eyes. Loki had believed him dead, believed himself to be the murderer by way of causing a weary old heart an insurmountable deal of stress.   
  
He held no such compassion now.  
  
His hand came up to lay flat against his eyes, back pressed against the grated gateway. He had no trouble confronting Thor, wounding his mother with words shaped into needles. So why would he feel this way, allow fear and anxiety to slip into his heart when Odin, with all his power, was the one at the core of it all, the one who had instigated the spiral in which Loki felt so trapped? Why did he suddenly think of all those evenings spent upon Odin's knee, riding with him atop Sleipnir in the heat of a forest hunt? He didn't care, and he'd made that clear. He had challenged the almighty king of Asgard while he sat atop his gilded throne. He had willingly stolen the Casket, let slip Jotunns into the palace, knowing, hoping, that it would all be enough to instigate Odin's wrath.  
  
Why would his mind dare to betray him now, force him to think upon the moments where he'd had a father?  
  
"I remember fear," he said shakily, "upon Jotunheim. Watching as flesh was stripped away in the grasp of a monster... You, trying to keep hold of your lies, keep them sewn shut... And now you come to me to ask forgiveness, no less."  
  
His throat felt dry, as if all moisture had been sucked up and into his eyes, squeezed shut and leaking down the planes of his heated face. They popped open, the scuff of Odin's boot booming across the chamber, and Loki tensed. He didn't need comfort, didn't want it, not from the likes of a liar king.   
  
"You think that, because you let slip a few pretty words, I'll forgive you?" His voice cracked. "That I could  _ever_  forgive you for leading me on like a dog upon a leash?" Loki paced, his steps fitful, erratic. He remembered, swallowing, eyes wide and red. "You... you never answered me before. You had years to think, could have told me what I was, so why didn't you?"  
  
Upon the bottom step Odin stood, knees shaking as though he were afraid to go any further. He was wise, knowing that Loki could charge him, kill him, drag his body across the chamber and paint the walls red. Loki turned and gripped the pedestal, shaking the stone until he feared it might come loose and break. What was there for him to think, to feel? It was all the same concoction that haunted him, woke him with fear late in the night. The shadows on the wall all appeared to be his own, an imitation, manifestations of his own insecurities. They taunted him, even here, multiplying before his eyes and closing in around him, whispering the word that he had come to fear.   
  
 _Monster. Monster._  
  
He pounded the grate, dizzy and sick and calling for her, wondering where in the hell she was, why she hadn't yet come. His mother was always here, always reaching for him, always waiting for the nightmares to overcome so she could hold him in her arms, offer her protection. But he didn't need a protector, didn't need anyone to hold him up. Loki had come this far on his own, hadn't he? Sought out and seen worlds beyond the Nine Realms, held power that would rival that of Odin, of Thor, of any of the Aesir. He'd taken Jotunheim without a hitch, declared war upon mighty Asgard, set about burning Midgard to the ground, and all on his own; all without a one of them with an arm wrapped around his waist. So why?  
  
Why did he need them now?  
  
The god was there then, holding him fast against the grate, one hand firm against his chest, the other in his, the sting of salt tearing through Loki's open palm. He'd seen his father like this once, when Thor had run off to Muspelheim for sport. Loki had stayed behind, not at all interested in playing games with the Fire Giants, run to Odin and told him all that his brother was up to, all he had done to find a bit of excitement. As with their venture to Jotunheim, Odin had dragged Thor back, held to him as though he were nothing but a small child, shouting and scolding him for his stupidity. And Thor, strong as he was, had had no chance against the rage of their father.   
  
Looking at him now, Odin was every bit the man he had been before, every bit the king Loki and his brother had idolized through childhood. The ruler of Asgard, the Allfather, the one god who, Loki had believed, had feared nothing. Not war, not death. But, as he had grown, come to resent the purity his father had stood for, he had thought that Odin had come to fear him. True to his craft, that had been a lie. Odin had never feared Loki.   
  
He had feared  _losing_  him.  
  
The hand fell upon his face, and, for a moment, he was no more than three feet tall again, crying and wailing, waiting to be swept up and into warm arms.   
  
"What... What am I to do...?"  
  
Odin sighed, peace in his eye, and whispered, " _Go._ "


	27. Am I The Enemy

There was still no answer, nothing with which to satisfy that which rattled alone within his skull. It was a pattern that had remained, a habit that they had kept to, taking time answering the most pressing of questions, perhaps to patch them with lies. It angered him, knowing the names he'd been given, the reputation he'd earned, the trouble he'd gone to to ensure that he'd be the best at his craft. The Prince of Lies, the God of Mischief, the Trickster, and he hadn't seen any sign of these mockeries, not a one, in all these years.   
  
The heels of Loki's hands were hard against his eyes, and when he looked down, there were stars, spinning about in the great wide reaches of space.   
  
He hadn't the heart to stay in Asgard to sort this out, to wait for another to come and interrupt him again, throw any path he'd uncovered back into total chaos. While he'd called for her, wondered in the heat of panic why she had not come, Loki didn't need to see his mother, didn't want anyone to lay their hands upon him. He'd nearly thrown Odin aside, sent him tumbling into the pedestal, seemingly burned by the very fact that the Allfather had touched him. He'd slipped away then, found a bit of solace in the branches of Yggdrasil, rubbed the side of his face with a sleeve until it had felt raw.   
  
There was still blood on his hands from clawing at the grate, and it stared back up at him as Loki shook his head, adding a second question to the first that he'd kept alive.   
  
 _"What am I...?"_  
  
It was the very question he'd asked the Allfather that day, and the answer had been what Odin had wanted him to believe. Odinson, prince of Asgard, one of two in the running for the throne. A healthy, happy little boy rather than the miserable piece of trash what ought to have been confined to darkness. Yet, he looked like them, bled like them, possessed abilities that could not have belonged to creatures other than the Aesir. What had they done to him?  
  
Loki was tired of waking in the dead of night, trapped in the sheets and believing himself to be in the cold of Jotunheim, startled out of his skin as hail struck the windows. Even if it had been part of the plan, Midgard was a horrendous place. He wasn't sure it would be worth it to go back. Perhaps he ought to just let the giants have their fun, open the gateway a bit wider and let them all slip on through. They'd make short work of the Avengers soon enough, and he'd have one less thing weighing on his weary mind.   
  
 _"Am I the enemy?"_  
  
The God of Mischief sighed, noting that he'd been scowling the entire time. He rubbed his forehead.   
  
It didn't matter where he went or what he did, Thor would chase after him, just like he always had. He was a tenacious bastard, never taking no for an answer; always ignoring Loki's protests and doing just as he liked. It was annoying, but not so much as when the thunder god was angry. He was rash, he was stupid, he was arrogant, and he listened far less than he did the rest of the time. But at least he was entertaining.  
  
Really, it seemed that Thor was the shadow in this game they played.   
  
The branches took him, sliding along the stars to the find the seam between Jotunheim and Midgard. It seemed the giants had brought about much destruction, going further than he'd ever expected, the streets littered with far more than just snow and wreckage. A pleasure to see that he wasn't the only one with a fondness for the color of human blood.   
  
With a hand, Loki spread the gap in space that would lead between the two worlds, smiling all the while.   
  
It didn't matter what he was, from whence he'd come. They'd invade just as he'd told them, tear apart the mortals until the sidewalks of their metropolis were stained, an eternal memory left alone to bleed upon the pages of Midgardian history. The mortals would die; he'd made up his mind. After all, what point was there in conquering only one world when there were so many others to have? Why allow the rest of the Nine Realms the opportunity to oppose him when he could take them all by storm?  
  
Loki smiled, stepping across the branches that led to Midgard.   
  
"Am I the enemy?" had become an answer all on its own.


	28. Head Down, Eyes Open

They kept coming, slipping out of nowhere to throw blocks of ice, swing massive clubs and destroy anything and everything. It was difficult to see them through the snow, hear them with the wind blowing in his hears, through his hair. His hands were cold, steadily turning red, as was his face, which would likely end up raw and chapped by the time he made it back indoors. He had not brought Jane home for this purpose; had left her in Asgard with his mother for fear that she would be hurt in the oncoming battle. Swinging his hammer wildly, catching one of the giants square in the chest, it seemed to Thor that he had made the right decision.   
  
He thought of Pepper then, wondered if she and the director were safe, if the man of iron had come up with some manner of plan to keep her out of harm's way as well. He was a clever man, Thor knew. A little foolish maybe, but not so much as to allow the woman he loved to remain in the middle of a war zone.   
  
The god stepped back, leaning against Sif's shoulder as she scowled, sending a knife through the outstretched arm of the lumbering giant down the street. It howled, the arm breaking as it fell, scattering among the snow and glass and broken bits of sidewalk. He grabbed her then, feet moving in a hurried circle beneath him as Thor sent her flying, her blade drawn in time to pierce the giant's chest, knocking it onto its back. Sif pulled and it came out black, flecks of blood dropping into the snow as she gave it a good swing, stalking back over to Thor.   
  
She thumped him on the chest, daggers in her eyes. "Their numbers grow by the minute," she said, and shuffled. "You made a mistake leaving him in Asgard."  
  
Thor looked away from her, gaze upon the hammer grip in his hand. He had not wanted to bring Loki back to Midgard, chain him up like a prisoner and tow him around. He had not wanted anything to do with him following that last little scuffle, had been perfectly content in getting as far from his brother as was possible. But his decision to leave Loki in Asgard, unguarded, running free, had been foolishness on his part. He should not have left his father and mother to deal with his brother when he, the future king of Asgard, still needed to take responsibility for the sequence of events his past selfishness had brought about.   
  
The way Sif looked at him, she knew this, that he was already well aware of his mistake.   
  
He said nothing, but her eyes kept on him. "This is Loki's doing, Thor. He means to kill us all."  
  
The thunder god wanted to say that he didn't believe such a thing, that the Jotunns must have found their own way to Midgard. But he knew better than to lie. He knew that Loki had no need for the Bifrost, that the Jotunns could not just travel to and from realms simply by wishing it. The Frost Giants had had help getting here, had been conquered by his brother for a purpose, not just for a spot of fun. Everything Loki did had reason.   
  
He grimaced, ignoring Sif's gaze, turning on a heel to stalk down a narrow alley to hunt down the others, see how they were faring. She grabbed his arm then, pulling him back a step. Thor didn't look at her.   
  
"You made a mistake, Thor," she said again, her tone hard. Her fingers curled into his arm. "You should have killed him when you had the chance."  
  
Thor yanked himself away, running down the alley with Sif hurrying at his heels. He was angry, gripping the hammer hard as he began to swing it, using its power to propel him from the alley and back out into the street, smashing through several unsuspecting giants as they grouped together. He dropped then, a heap of metal falling out of the sky and onto his back, sending Thor into the street to form a new crater. He looked up, head throbbing, the hammer out of reach, and saw the Frost Giant as it jumped off the top of the building. It had waited for him, had used the others as bait with which to catch him. It only made sense that they would target him specifically, what with his brother having sent them, with his power being that which could destroy them with but a blow.   
  
It loomed over him, a sneer upon its dark face, fist clenched and frosting over into a club as it raised an arm. Thor growled, throwing a handful of dirt up and into the giant's face as he rolled out of the way of the club. It touched down upon the gravel, little black chunks flying up, Thor's hand outstretched as Mjolnir flew to him, crouching as he prepared to fling the weapon at his enemy's feet.   
  
There was a bright flash of light, the giant falling to its knees, a black mark burned into its back as it screamed, turning to peer up at the building upon which it had stood before as a thin black line dropped between its eyes.  
  
Thor glanced up as Sif appeared at his side, the snow blowing into their faces as he scowled, prepared to fight off an onslaught of Jotunns eager for his blood.   
  
"You're a fool," came a voice and Thor lowered the hammer in disbelief.   
  
"Why have you come?" he bellowed back over the wind.   
  
There came laughter, and Thor felt even more uneasy. "Why, I can't very well let my brother march into war alone," Loki scoffed, appearing through the snow. "That would be irresponsible of me. After all, he doesn't know how to take care of himself."  
  
Sif lunged at him, a gesture that Loki sidestepped, sending the warrior woman to her knees.   
  
"Do not play the role of friend," she yelled, shaking, "when you are responsible!"  
  
He ignored her, standing before Thor with quiet eyes. Thor didn't know what to say, what to do, what to think. He had expected Loki to run from Asgard, try to take it over, not come wandering back to Midgard to kill the Frost Giants.   
  
"You do not trust me," he said, and Thor shook his head. "Of course. The moment truth slips off my tongue, you assume it to all be lies."  
  
Thor scowled, looking from his brother to the Frost Giant what lay with a spear lodged in its skull. Had he wanted to, Loki could have killed him instead, killed he and Sif both, opened the way for the giant to proceed in its destruction. His brother could have killed him during his visit with their mother in Asgard, left the kingdom, his friends, to mourn him while Loki himself ran free. Killing him early on would have saved Loki an awful lot of trouble. It made no sense for him to return to Midgard now, to kill the frost giants, his minions, and then to turn on Thor.   
  
Loki frowned then, the point of his lance resting on Thor's shoulder. The thunder god visibly flinched, a buzzing sound echoing in his ear as magic shot from the tip, a giant screaming somewhere through the snow.   
  
"How about now?"   
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
The heat burned her face as she ran, falling over her own feet as she went, spying a window straight down the hall that had been left wide open. She charged through the door, not bothering to close it behind her, and took a running leap, diving through the window and rolling quickly across the rooftop before getting to her feet and launching once more, this time flying off and towards the parking lot that lay nearly twenty feet below. She flinched, landing heavily on the roof of a car, probably leaving a dent as Natasha forced herself off, turning back to peer up at the building. It was engulfed in flames, her skin warm and covered in scrapes as it blew, the tower of fire growing higher the longer it clung to the hospital walls.   
  
She hated that dream.  
  
Opening her eyes, she was sore, lying flat on her back as she looked up at the sky, steadily growing darker. The sun was like to set soon, plunge them all into darkness as the giants roamed. It would be foolish to fight them in the night, as it was unlikely that the power in this part of the city was functioning properly. Not after a rampage like the one she'd just seen.   
  
They'd come right out of nowhere, appearing as creatures out of a monster film, shadows that loomed through the heavy snow, snatching up unsuspecting children to serve as a quick meal. It scared her a bit, knowing that there were people frozen in ice, expressions of utter terror etched into their faces, mouths agape. She'd seen them, littering street corners and insides of shops, children holding to their mothers as the monsters had come for them.   
  
Natasha blinked furiously, sputtering as sleet dropped down and into her nose. She sat up, choking while her throat burned, her chest ached, holes torn in her leather suit. Where had Clint gone? What of the warriors from Asgard? Had the giants taken them in the chaos as well? She stood, the cold growing stronger as the sun fell faster behind the clouds, the wind taking to nipping at her exposed skin. The assassin moved slowly, quietly, seeking to avoid the thin patches of ice that might crack when stepped on. She needed to remain unseen, silent, find a point to rendezvous with any one of the others, for fighting side-by-side in the dark was far less treacherous than going at it alone.   
  
She slipped down a cold little side street, peering around each corner before venturing out and into the open back door of an obliterated noodle shop. Natasha settled into the kitchen, noting that the stove was still warm and huddled against it. There were tablecloths strewn across the floor by the windows, but she made no move to retrieve one. Through the blizzard, the Jotunns, having come from a planet of cold and snow, would likely see her. And she wouldn't catch sight of them until it was too late.   
  
The assassin stiffened, taking to the handle of a knife that lay on the floor, believing herself to be hearing voices outside the cracked window. Minutes passed, heart beating in her throat, palm heated and pooling with sweat. The loose glass rattled on the windowsill as the wind blew, the boom of thunder echoing as she peered over the top of the counter, the remainder of the wide window exploding inwards.  
  
"Divide and conquer," he'd told her, and Natasha grimaced.


	29. So Cold

She watched the window with scrutiny, heated breath appearing in the cool air before her, one arm poised at her side with the knife, the other holding to the counter as the assassin crouched, balanced on her toes. The thunder had died down, the wind now the only sound in the shop aside from her heart pulsing in her ears. It seemed the giants had missed her, perhaps only having stopped to make a game of breaking anything that they hadn't already destroyed. The sound of tinkling glass set her on edge again, crawling quietly across the floor and around the counter as her eyes adjusted to the darkness. The window had been taken out entirely, a black figure lying on the floor and covered in glass. Natasha crept closer, raised the blade above her head as it moved, and brought her arm down.   
  
Her wrist was seized in the dark, growling as she fought, her free hand taking hold of the arm that held her, giving it a twist as the sole of her boot slammed against the floor, cracking glass as she stood and pulled back on the limb. The knife fell from her hand, and she leaned in, the crook of her elbow tightening around the intruder's throat.   
  
Natasha felt herself flying as her assailant threw her off, sending her crashing to the floor, glass biting into her back. She stared up, out of breath, and scowled.   
  
"Get off me!" she demanded, planting the heel of a boot against his chest. She pushed off and he tumbled back, falling into one of the tables as Natasha made a face, rubbing her aching muscles.   
  
He looked at her as she lunged forward, grabbing him by the throat as if seeking to shake the life out of him. Even in the dark he appeared tired, the skin around his pale eyes gray as though someone had smeared charcoal across his face. He blinked, tongue snaking out from between his lips as Natasha stared, her gaze softening as she began to count the thin red lines and scrapes decorating his brow. Loki shouldn't have been here, she told herself. He'd run off the last time, causing Thor to give chase. She had thought that the thunder god had taken care of him, done something to ensure that he wouldn't come back to New York to kill them all. And yet, here he was, looking shaken and uncomfortable as she contemplated strangling him.   
  
Natasha shoved him back and he glared, eyes watering as she settled her back against the counter, arms crossed and knees drawn to her chest.   
  
She hated him, hated to agree with him, but Thor was an idiot. He made promises he couldn't keep; had promised them months before that Loki would return home to face Asgardian justice for his deeds, only to let his brother come wandering back with the taste of their blood still fresh in his mouth.   
  
"Are you lost, little spider?"  
  
The assassin cringed, sweeping the knife off the floor and flinging it into the wall beside his head. He didn't move, he didn't smile as she had expected. Loki sat still and stared at her, unperturbed by the motion.   
  
She looked into his distant eyes, her own widening as that familiar little face stared back at her.   
  
The child was terrified, staring at her with tears, sobbing, begging, her hand pressed hard against the little body, pinning it to the wall. He stood behind her, fingers curled around the gun, all itching to inch forward and pull the trigger. Natasha's hand closed tighter around the blade, the flat pressed to the child's throat, daring him to make a move. The girl wailed, the doll that had been in her arms now lying on the dusty floor. Her little red face and screeching grated upon her last nerve, and Natasha cringed. Drakov was a fool to think that she was beyond taking the life of a child.   
  
The bastard had betrayed her.  
  
His shoe scraped against the floor, perhaps catching on a nail, and he sneezed, the gun clicking softly before the bullet was discharged, lodging itself in the floor by Natasha's foot. She turned her wrist, failing to notice that the firing of the weapon had been accidental before the blade curved into the child's throat, drawing blood. She staggered back, the man charging across the room, dropping the gun as he caught the girl's body in his arms. He screamed, swearing at the assassin as her hand grazed the floor, taking hold of the weapon, firing the bullets into his chest as he turned on her.   
  
Natasha grimaced, blinking furiously as she came to, now finding herself hovering over the god, his back pressed into the floor, the knife held in her hand and buried in his shoulder. Loki scowled and backhanded her, the assassin falling backwards and onto her rump. She gaped, breath escaping in shudders as it clouded up the air around her.   
  
Why was she suddenly having all these dreams?  
  
"Still not clean, are you?" he hissed, drawing the weapon from his flesh, bending it until the plastic handle snapped. Natasha could see a thin red line in his palm as Loki let it fall to the floor. "It haunts you to be in so deep, unsure of just how to escape; how to find your redemption."   
  
She spat, as if to rid her mouth of a foul taste. She didn't need a lecture on redemption from the devil.  
  
Natasha ignored him, spoke quietly, "Where is Clint? Tony?  _Thor_?" He flinched. "Don't play coy. You came for him, didn't you?"  
  
"And you look for Barton, because you can't help yourself." He wasn't denying it. "You can't help but feel the basest of mortal emotion.  _Love_." Loki scoffed. "Love is for children."  
  
Even if he hadn't meant them to, the words had bite, striking her square in the chest. For they had been her own.  
  
"I... That's not true," she shot back, fixing her gaze on a piece of glass that lay by her boot. It reminded her of the mirror she had broken several weeks earlier, the one that had hung on the back of the closet door in their bedroom. She had been sifting through Clint's shirts minutes before one of Tony's parties, insisting that one had to dress like a gentleman while in public, and that, no, he could not carry his bow around, no matter how much he whined. They had argued, and she had slammed the door and shattered the mirror. It all made her wonder where Clint was now. "And you have no room to talk."  
  
The god gave her a curious glance.   
  
"It doesn't matter what you say." Natasha pulled her knees closer. "I know you love your brother. You have to love someone."  
  
Loki didn't pay her any mind, just leaned himself up against the wall again and sighed, looking visibly disturbed as he shifted. She could see the sheen of sweat clinging to his brow, even in this deathly cold, his breaths sounding slow and hollow, strained as though he had something caught in his throat.   
  
"My... my mother used to sing to us." Natasha's eyes widened. "When it was dark, and sleep could not be found... She would tell us stories of the armies of old. The men who had gone into battle alongside Odin..."  
  
She shook her head, as if to wake herself from some bizarre dream. He didn't seem like the man she'd fantasized of killing anymore, even as his voice grew quiet, eyes laden with fatigue, still reciting the words.  
  
" _On the morn, we ride to war. Shadows falling at our heels. The sun will rise, strong, as the warriors sing, 'No fear.' 'No fear,' comes the battle cry, all hands raised to the sky. 'No fear, for tomorrow we die. Though blood will consume us, all hope will abandon us, there is no fear, for the kingdom lies in eternal night...'_ "  
  
Loki leaned forward, elbows resting on his knees, and Natasha stared in astonishment, a hand pressed to her mouth.  
  
"Oh, my  _God_..." His eyes cracked open and looked at her, Natasha's chest rising and falling with shock. "You're... you're turning blue."  
  
He shifted, holding a hand above his head as the skin seemed to melt into the ice that lay upon the top of the river. A grim smile settled faintly upon his eyes, and Loki sighed.   
  
"Of course..."  
  
Natasha now knew what Thor had meant when he'd said his brother was adopted.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
He woke with a headache, blinding white light filtering into his eyes as the world seemed to spin. The beast had come at him, tearing up concrete with its clawed feet as it had roared through the city, tail toppling buildings as it trailed along behind its bulk. Fangs bared, it had jumped at him, catching Thor in its claws, roaring in his face, eyes large and narrowed in fury. He had smacked the beast in the nose with Mjolnir, causing it to rear up, send him flying as Sif was left to fight back. Thor had fallen from the sky, smacked his head against a billboard hung on the side of a building, through an awning, and into the ground.   
  
Sif's back was to him, the sheathe at her waist trembling, her hand clinging tightly to the handle of the blade. Thor made no sound, just blinked several times in an effort to rid himself of the headache that was coming on. It had started between his eyes, upon the bridge of his nose, spreading like ink across parchment until it filled the front of his cranium, causing him to grimace. He coughed and Sif turned, seemingly startled by the sound.  
  
She reached towards her hip, drawing a water pouch from her belt, offering it to him. Thor sat up, using an elbow to support himself against the ground, draining the skin until its weight was nothing in his hand. He thanked her and pressed a palm firmly to his forehead.   
  
Somehow, he had lost Loki in the chaos, his brother having vanished before Thor had even chance to blink. He looked to Sif, her eyes now vacant of the look of concern that had lingered before. She grimaced, as if anticipating the question he sought to ask, and shook her head. She did not know where Loki had run off to either.  
  
The warrior woman reached for him, taking hold of his arm with a gloved hand, squeezing.  
  
"I do not like this," she said, sounding dangerous. "Things aren't what they were, Thor. I do not like being expected to follow when you will not share what troubles you."  
  
The thunder god stared at her, mouth opening as if to speak before he thought better of it. Sif knew him, had always known when things were not right with him, when he was bothered. They had been together long enough for her to pick up on his habits. He'd been foolish to expect that this would go unnoticed by her keen eye.   
  
But he had promised, back in Asgard after Loki had fallen from the Bifrost, sworn to his father that not a word of his brother's heritage would slip past his lips. He could not let Sif know, could not even tell her that he'd sworn a vow not to speak of it. She'd think him a liar, trying to get out of discussing his troubles. In response, he hung his head, refused to look her in the eye.  
  
The smell of Sif's glove slid into his nose, her hand holding fast to his chin, forcing his face towards hers.   
  
"Thor, what are you hiding?"  
  
Thor grimaced, shaking her off with a low grunt. He scrabbled back, golden brow furrowed as he sighed, "I cannot say."  
  
"Cannot, or will not?"  
  
He crossed his arms, swallowing the lump in his throat. Of course she wouldn't believe him, so he was content with not trying, waiting her out. She would tire of asking eventually. He hoped.   
  
His head turned as the sound of falling trash cans reached him, looking to the alleyway in time to see Natasha stumbling through the snow, breathing hard. Thor stood, hurrying to her side as she stopped, pressing her back to the wall as she slid down and into the snow, eyes closed. He took hold of her shoulders and shook her gently as he could.   
  
"What has happened?" he said, noting the scrapes on her skin. "Are you hurt?"  
  
The woman shook her head, red hair bowing into her eyes. She coughed, looking to him and Sif, who now stood behind him.   
  
Natasha looked him over. "I should be asking you that," she laughed dryly, motioning to his chest. "Looks like something tried to pick you apart."  
  
Thor looked to the armor, noting that several of the plates were scuffed, broken in two, or missing all together. He peered over his shoulder to stare curiously at Sif.   
  
"It was a nasty fall," she said, and pursed her lips, refusing to say more.   
  
The thunder god grimaced. If she wanted to play that game with him, he decided it best to let her. He turned back to Natasha, holding her as she began to shake, likely from the cold, and peered down the alleyway to see her footsteps. He frowned, squinting as he struggled to see into the shadows. From the tracks, it seemed as though she'd been dragging something along.   
  
Taking to his feet, Thor headed down the alley, eyes widening further with every step he took. He broke into a sprint then, hurrying between the buildings and dropping to his knees, skidding in the snow as hot breath shot up like cigarette smoke before him. He took hold of Loki's shoulders, shaking him, swearing quietly to himself upon realizing that his brother's skin was blue. He peered back at the two women, noting that Sif watched him with suspicion, standing and heading towards them.   
  
"Don't!" he yelled, stretching an arm out as if to stop her. She kept coming. Thor jumped up, barreling towards Sif and grabbing her by the arm.  
  
"What are you hiding from us?!" she demanded, raising a hand to slap him. "Why do you still protect him?! What is it that you have not told us?!"  
  
Sif gave him a shove and Thor teetered back, falling against a dumpster as she ran, sliding to a stop. She turned on him then, eyes wide with shock and even betrayal, as though she could not believe that her dearest friend had kept such a secret from her. Sif shook her head, balling her fists in anger as Loki shifted, knitting his brow.   
  
"Damn..."  
  
The warrior woman stepped aside as Thor returned to his brother's side, pulling Loki's tired body into his arms and earning a myriad of colorful curses as he struggled to get free. The thunder god let him go, snow flying up into his face as Loki spat, kicking it at him as he stood, began brushing the white powder and slush from his clothes.   
  
Thor couldn't help smiling, and Loki's expression grew even darker.   
  
"What?" he snapped.   
  
The elder prince chuckled. "I thought you..."  
  
"Dead?" Loki looked appalled, offended. "This is  _Midgard_ , Thor, not Svartalfheim. You're a fool to think I'd die in a wormhole like this."  
  
He ignored the daggers in his brother's eyes, the smile vanishing from his face as he stood stiff as a board, seeking a subtle way as to alert Loki as to his... condition. The thunder god kicked at the snow with the toe of his boot, shuffling around in little circles as Loki watched him. The more time passed, Thor realized, the more awkward this was going to become.   
  
Thor's hands clapped together, fingers intertwining. "Brother..." Loki looked at him, clearly in a foul mood and likely sore. Thor bit his lip. "You, uh... You look...  _different._ "  
  
Careful emphasis was placed upon the word, enough so that Loki stared at him quizzically for a moment before his eyes widened and he began to pace, purposely moving out of the line of sight of Natasha and Sif.   
  
"Damn!"  
  
The warrior woman pushed past Thor then, taking to Loki and knotting her fingers in the collar of his tunic. She shook him, hard. "What manner of fool joke is this?! Asgard lies on the brink of war with Jotunheim, their people terrorize Midgard, and you have the nerve to come here and play games?!"  
  
Thor called to her, a warning, but it came too late, as Loki had raised a hand, striking her. Sif fell back.   
  
"Do not touch me," he leered, eyes growing dark. "You have already shamed your king enough, attacking the Son of Odin."  
  
He shouted again, tearing through the snow to get at them, Sif's hand closing around the dagger in her boot. The world seemed to move in slow motion, a bolt of lightning seeming to have shot through his middle, the ground growing closer as he peered up at the tops of the buildings, his vision becoming quickly unfocused. The ground caught him, pulling him into the arms of white powder, clinging to Thor's hair, his clothes, chilling his skin. Flat on his back, he looked up, Sif's mouth wide open in a scream, though no sound reached him. A blue gaze turned to his brother, now looking crestfallen as he dropped to his knees, the color draining out of his skin as he seemed to mouth Thor's name.   
  
And, for a moment, as the world grew dark, Thor could have sworn that Loki's eyes were glossy.


	30. Deal With The Devil

Perhaps this was all just a feverish dream, and he was still home in Asgard, sick and held tightly in his mother's arms as he slept, chest heaving and mind racing. Perhaps he were still an innocent young man, bitter, jealous of the fact that their father had chosen Thor as the successor to his throne. Or maybe, and he hoped it were so, his eyes were clamped shut as he stood, shouting at Odin in the relic chamber, demanding to know why in the living hell he hadn't been told of his parentage sooner. As his eyes opened, Loki felt only shock, the body before him on the ground not that of the Allfather, but his brother, lying still and frail in the snow.   
  
Loki knelt beside him, reached for Thor, oblivious to the tracks that appeared on his face, the subtle tears running quickly through the dirt. His hands hovered as they had with Odin, fearful of what his touch might bestow. He was a monster, wasn't he? What good could he do, what comfort could he bring? But his body ignored the questions, taking hold of his brother and pulling him, gently as he could, into his trembling arms, deaf to all but the sound of his own pounding heart.   
  
He hadn't the courage to look at her, for doing so would acknowledge that she had been right. But her words echoed.   
  
 _"I know you love your brother. You have to love someone."_  
  
He remembered his fall in Jotunheim, foolish Thor throwing himself across the temple floor to catch him, and he had wondered, as his eyes closed, if his brother had seen through him, heard the things in his heart that Loki himself had not known to be true. A thousand times since the coronation he had told himself that he was alone, had no one and nothing and did not need them. But Thor had always come running, that fierce look upon his face as he had been determined to chase after him, make Loki see that he was right there.   
  
"He is one of them!" the Lady Sif bellowed, and Loki fell back as she kicked him, shuddering as the Warriors Three and the rest of the Avengers arrived on the scene. "Monster!"  
  
She spat the word at him with all of her malice, and it struck him, threatened to turn his stomach inside-out as they all looked upon him, the color softly seeping back beneath the surface of his skin. They had seen him for what he was, all of them, from the beginning. And, though they had been oblivious to his heritage, the true monstrosity, they had judged him, deemed him an enemy worth destroying. The monster, as his traitorous mind reminded him, that lurked in the darkness of every realm, threatening the sweet dreams of little children.   
  
Loki growled at her, taking the woman by the arm and peeling her away from Thor, taking her legs out from beneath her with a foot and slamming her head against the frosted concrete. She struggled beneath him, his forearm threatening to crush her windpipe as her friends began to shout, intervened and tore them apart, Volstagg holding him back.   
  
The prince twisted himself from the warrior's grasp, stumbling back in the snow, landing beside Thor. He must have looked manic, all eyes wide as he felt the threatening sound of a whimper building in the back of his throat, leaning back with an arm stretched over his brother's body. He turned, suddenly choking as the other's face remained still. The silver armor that had covered his chest and middle had been stripped away, the other pieces flecked with dirt and blood and scraped to the point that one could no longer see their reflection. There lay a hole in his gut, bleeding steadily around a sharp piece of ice having cut Thor right through.   
  
Hands fell on him then, and he struggled, calling for Thor as they pulled him back, the others crowding around the thunder god's body as if to obstruct his view.   
  
"Thor...?  _Thor!_ "  
  
The hands took hold of him by the hair, throwing him hard to the ground as the assassin loomed above, raising a finger to her lips, the hawk hovering over her shoulder. Loki had a mind to push her out of the way, but thought better of it, knowing well that Barton had quite the grudge against him. And he was certainly not interested in receiving an arrow in the back.   
  
A rumbling shook the ground, causing the woman to look away long enough for him to get to his feet, look for the giants, the spear manifesting in his heated palm, the horned helmet upon his head. They came with a great wind, perhaps that of vengeance, the snow leaping off the ground to spiral around them, stinging skin as though the assault were with fine needles instead of powder. There were small groups of giants clumped together as they gathered round, leering down at them with great, bloody eyes, some with sneers upon their blue-gray lips. Had they come to report success, he would be more than happy to kill them all.   
  
Allowing the Avengers to find him was not what Loki considered a successful endeavor.   
  
"I hope you've not come to inform me of my victory," he said, drawing all eyes. Loki tensed, pale eyes seeking to uncover which of them had struck Thor down. "It would be quite the disappointment if you could not see," he motioned to the heroes gathered around him, "that my enemies still live."  
  
One giant, far smaller than the rest, stepped forward and off the edge of the building, touching down on the ground with a thud. He wore a satisfied smirk that caused Loki's eyes to narrow, the expression reminding him greatly of that of Laufey. The Jotunn raised a hand as the others shifted, as if to insist that he needed no aid with which to speak. Loki grimaced, tilting his head.   
  
"We follow you no more, Asgardian," he laughed, and the other giants followed suit. Apparently they'd gained quite a bit of courage in his absence.   
  
Loki raised a brow, biting back his anger as he strolled about, forcing a smile onto his face. "Is that so? And after all I've done for you. Led you from the darkness, granted you prosperity and salvation. And you claim to owe me, your king, nothing?"  
  
He could see Sif tense from the corner of his eye.   
  
The giant's grin faded away then, replaced by aggressive irritation. "You invade our lands, take hold of our throne...!" the giant bellowed, slamming a fist into the ground. "And still you have the gall to betray us, Asgardian?!"  
  
He sneered, flinging daggers at the Jotunn's feet, driving him back. "Now, what would primeval beasts know of betrayal?" The giant howled, a flash of magic striking him in the chest. "You misunderstand, my friend. It was never about your throne, your people, but killing my fool brother, taking the Nine Realms with Asgard as my prize. You were merely pawns upon the board." A smile. "And, as you surely know, a king always sacrifices the pawns first."   
  
The Jotunn growled and lurched forward, seizing him by the arm, fingers curling in with pressure enough to break bone. Loki refused to struggle, gritting his teeth and tensing as the giant watched him with bloody eyes, breath foul as it slipped between frozen lips and jagged teeth. He would not cry out, give their ranks reason with which to all turn upon him. He, the God of Mischief, was above all of them. They were foolish, mindless beasts, best left to live only in the writings of the musty pages of history books. The Frost Giants of Jotunheim no longer had a place in the Nine Realms.   
  
Not under his rule, at least.  
  
"We have seen the temple," several of the other giants dropped onto the concrete, all with teeth bared, "our slain brethren. Who, but you, would  _dare_  to strike down the giants of Jotunheim?"  
  
Loki scoffed, erupting in laughter as the giant appeared taken aback.   
  
"Yes," he chuckled, "I killed them. Do you know why?" The giant stared at him in muted fury. "You are  _animals._  And there is no greater purpose for the beasts that roam the earth than destruction; sacrifices for the pleasure of those who stand above them. You," he laid a hand on the giant's shoulder, smiling, "are nothing to me but a soldier, a beast of burden."  
  
The Jotunn struck him then, sending the weapon spiraling off and into the snow. He spat, the snow on the ground leering up at him, red, and turned back to the giant.   
  
"You do not keep to your bargains, Asgardian. The giants of Jotunheim do not take kindly to traitors."  
  
Loki scowled, free hand beginning to glow with magic. "Again you misunderstand. I made no bargain with Býleistr to spare your people. I only vowed to return the Casket to Jotunheim on the condition that the Frost Giants followed my orders. And regardless of any bargain made..." His gaze hardened, and Loki motioned to Thor. " _He_  was always mine to kill."  
  
The giant grinned at Loki as if to mock him, waving an arm to another that stood behind him, holding in his hands that which the god had forgotten entirely about until now.  
  
"We do not owe you our loyalties, Asgardian," he laughed, and the relic was raised high. "The Casket is ours once more. Jotunheim will prosper, and the Nine Realms will again know fear."  
  
"I assure you," Loki whispered, the magic slipping from his fingers, winding around the giant's bulk, "you will regret breaking a deal with the devil."  
  
The frost people roared then, their appointed leader falling to the ground and writhing, the coils of the intangible silver snake tightening about his throat, draining his body of the necessary air until his eyes rolled back in death. Hand outstretched, the lance returned to Loki, its pointed head diving into the gut of the giant, tearing through cold flesh until the bowels spilled forth, littering the ground with sludge. He breathed heavily, arm aching from the vice-grip, and turned to face them, those what had called him monster.  
  
"You will have no time with which to kill me," he told them, and the giants began to stir. "I leave you with but one choice: Kill them, before they kill you."  
  
Sif stomped her foot, her hand visibly itching to take her dagger and drive it through his throat. "Give us a reason why we ought trust you, Trickster. Do you think us so foolish that we will fight your armies and allow our lives to be taken with them?!"  
  
Loki shrugged. He had no patience with which to waste on her. "Fight or die, Lady Sif. It matters little to me."  
  
They charged, several jumping off the tops of buildings and plowing their bodies into the concrete, forcing snow and debris into the already icy air. The wind spun, carrying sleet across the terrain, white and blinding like the sun shining into one's eyes. Blindly, Loki turned, catching one of the giants in the chest with the point of the spear before it backhanded him. He slid in the snow, slamming hard into someone's feet and pulling them down with him. From the weight that fell on him, Loki was sure it must have been Volstagg, who grunted in annoyance and pulled himself up, raging on about how he'd soon have tales to tell of Jotunn heads rolling from the tip of his ax.   
  
A whistling sound cut through the spiral of snow, followed by the impact of heavy explosions. The Iron Man must have returned to play with his rockets, as that obnoxious music had begun playing the way it had in Stuttgart. He hated that irritating sound.   
  
There came screaming, the giants falling dead and losing limbs to the detonations as Loki got to his feet. It was damned near impossible to see now, what with snow and wind and smoke all pooling together in the atmosphere, the concoction forcing itself down his throat and into his lungs. He gagged, covering mouth and nose with a hand as he stepped back, the giant with the spear in its chest falling dead before him, its own vile odor mixing with that of the air. He reached for the shaft, taking it in hand and giving it a tug before stepping over the body, deciding that giving it a kick would only be a waste of time. One that, in conditions such as these, could serve to get him killed.   
  
He couldn't seem to find the place where Thor lay, even utilizing the thin branches of Yggdrasil to see, feel, where the giants stood to fight the Avengers. Loki grimaced. A body couldn't just vanish on its own, and as the thought crossed his mind he grew angry, suspecting that someone, or something, had decided to move his brother.  
  
He fell then, striking the ground hard with his chin, groaning as the pain throbbed through his jaw. Loki looked back, hand raised and fashioning knives with which to strike whatever fool had dared handle him. It fell back, pale eyes widened as he made out Thor's fingers curled around his ankle, a soft and tired smile upon his stupid face. Only Thor could smile so as he lay dying.  
  
Loki wrenched himself away, peering over his shoulder and flicking a wrist, sending imitations off and into the fray. Thor looked up and Loki ignored him, crouching to slide himself beneath his brother's arm, muttering to himself that Thor needed to find something to do with his time other than adding to his already massive form.   
  
"Idiot," he hissed as they dropped, easily exhausted. He leaned back against a brick wall and ignored his brother's gaze.   
  
It was strange to think that Thor had fallen this way, taken by surprise in the middle of a war zone. He wasn't the least bit a tactician, always finding more entertainment in simply bludgeoning his opponents, but the thunder god wasn't so careless as to not notice his surroundings when enemies lurked around every corner. Loki bit his lip, silently berating himself for having allowed himself to get out of hand again. If he hadn't, Thor would have gone on with his big mouth, spitting insults until the giants had appeared. Again, Loki's temper had destroyed any chance he'd had of removing his greatest obstacle.   
  
Thor seemed to notice this as he lay, still bleeding, on his side, his eyes quiet and betrayed.  
  
"Oh, don't give me that look," Loki snapped, crossing his arms. He could already feel the heat welling up beneath his collar. "You're foolish to think that I'd have any other reason to come here and help you. You ought to know better by now."  
  
He'd decided, in the cool reaches of space, that there was no such thing as repentance, redemption. That, far down as he'd gone, he might as well keep on digging, as there was sure to be no way to climb out of a pit so deep as this one. He was the master of lies, of trickery, lulling friend and foe alike into a false sense of security before the strike, leaving them stunned upon the ground at his feet as they realized that they'd been had. Loki had decided that it was best to rid himself of his great enemy, skulk through the Nine Realms and wait out Odin's wrath with a grain of salt. The Allfather couldn't stay angry, couldn't wait hold him at bay forever. He was a god, but also an old man. He'd have to die someday.   
  
With Thor out of the way and Odin unable to contain him, it would have only been a matter of time before the Nine Realms were under his rule. He'd have held power enough to rid the cosmos of Thanos or any other who sought after his life.   
  
"Loki..."  
  
"I came here to kill you!" he barked, standing over Thor. "Deceive you, wait until you turned your back so I could run you through myself!"  
  
He thought, for a moment, that his heart might beat through his rib cage, allow Thor to hear the lie he kept telling himself: He never had a brother, never loved Thor.   
  
So why did he keep referring to the Son of Odin as his brother?  
  
"I should just let you die," he murmured, sitting at Thor's side, hand delving into the warrior's pouch. The stone was smooth, cool, against his palm, fingertips falling against the shaft of ice in the thunder god's chest, causing it to crack and shatter into naught but powder. The stone cracked then, dissipating into thin silver dust, slipping through his fingers as it fell into the wound, Thor wincing and looking up at him as it began to close. Loki didn't look at him. "Count yourself fortunate."  
  
He grimaced, thinking on the Casket then. It had been left behind in the chaos, in his haste to cause Thor pain, leave Jane to die upon Jotunheim. Loki knew he should have whisked it away before, while he was still in control, and felt like kicking himself for being so damned stupid.  
  
The God of Mischief didn't hear Thor grunt as he sat up, didn't hear the snow crunch beneath his boots as he came up behind. His eyes widened as Thor's hand connected hard with the back of his head, and he turned, prepared to deliver the same blow, only to be pushed backwards. He stumbled and Thor caught him, those thick arms of his threatening to crush Loki as he scowled. Thor, of course, only smiled.   
  
"I knew you'd come."  
  
Loki's eyes dropped, and he said nothing.


	31. Remember

They sat quietly, side by side as the snow fell. The booming roars of explosions and gunshots and howling giants had moved quite a ways away, the vibrations of the battle barely buzzing through the soles of their boots. The harsh winter wind had died down at last, the powder appearing serene as it came and touched the earth, gently covering footprints and broken lines in the streets, leftover blood and debris. Not a word had been exchanged over the course of several minutes, perhaps even an hour, though it seemed that neither of them were worried enough to keep track. The silence was enough. Conversation was unnecessary.   
  
Loki sat with knees drawn to his chest, arms wrapped around them as he hunched over, eyes lidded. In Asgard, he wouldn't have thought to sit this way, looking common and improper, particularly not the presence of others. He had always sat upright, head held high, though he may not have cared for the events that occurred at present. Glory feasts and wild celebrations overflowing with wine and all manner of meat were the most frequent. Not once had he said anything, but the parties had always been rather boring in his opinion. Always the same old charade one day after the other: Roughhousing and attempting to reason with drunkards who only cared to mock him.  
  
His fingers curled, digging into the leather of his sleeves, nose buried beneath his arms as eyes closed. The winters of home had always been a strange sort of comfort. Uncomfortable, but preferable to the scorching heat of summer, even with their roaring fires and warm drinks. They would sit, he recalled, with friends, passing around goblets until every hand had been filled, raising them in a loud toast, usually led by Thor, and downed before tossing them carelessly into the fire with laughter. The white had always covered the kingdom with a strange sort of beauty on those nights, the tall golden buildings and hovering magicked stones barely kissed with the chilled stardust, standing high above the sea of ice as they continued to offer up their intangible and distant warmth.   
  
Looking around, Loki easily acknowledged that Asgardian winters were far superior to those of Midgard.   
  
The buildings here were all the same shape, the same color, the same flat panes of boring glass peering down at all who looked up at their gray heights. In the realm of the gods, at least, there was some variety. Short, stocky structures, those that appeared to be fashioned in awkward shapes, and, his selected favorite, those that presented illusion, appearing to be made of several tubes as if mimicking the tops of great and beautiful pipe organs.   
  
"Are you... happy?"  
  
The words startled him, Loki's eyes opening immediately as he shifted against the wall, seeking the comfort he'd held moments before. As much as the prince appreciated the simplicity of winter, he'd never been one for being forcibly trapped out in the cold as he was now.   
  
He chanced a glance at Thor, whose eyes stood curious and dull beneath his brow. It made him feel like a bratty child, hesitant to speak for fear of the punishment that would inevitably follow. Loki said nothing, feeling the fatigue that lingered heavy upon his eyelids. Still hidden from sight, his mouth opened, breath warm upon his lips as he sighed, abruptly relenting.  
  
"About what?" he said, a tired note in his voice.  
  
Thor balked then, moving so as to face him completely, hands balling themselves into loose fists as he crossed his ankles. Maybe he was just asking as the elder brother he'd always pretended to be. Trying to make himself care, and all that.  
  
"Anything," Thor replied, and he leaned forward. Fortunately, the thunder god did not touch him. Worry laced his voice. "Have you... ever been truly happy, Brother?"  
  
Loki scowled, averting his gaze as he thought, sifting through shadow.   
  
They were not all fond memories, a confession he would have gladly given before the whole of Asgard. Many of them were dark, dull, faded around the edges. But those he held to, had clasped within an iron fist, all had a singular common factor: His mother, in one form or another. He recalled sitting in the black of the vast library with but a single candle, shielding it with one hand as though the shadows would snuff it out, keep him from reading on in the scroll he'd held open with two small books upon the floor. Even in those nights where she had not found him, had not appeared to know that he'd been creeping about the palace to play at spells, he'd thought of her, focusing on the singular point that was to be his center.  
  
The rest of them, and he imagined that they must have been better once, perhaps tainted by his own feeling of inadequacy, were like pages that he wished thoroughly to burn. To hold those memories above the lapping flame in his palm, those of seeking after Thor's acknowledgement, his father's encouragement.   
  
They were conflicting, the two images in his mind. Fair Frigga on one hand, and valiant Thor and steady Odin on the other.   
  
He thought a moment of answering such a question, and Thor sighed.  
  
"I could hear you."   
  
Loki lifted his head, looked to Thor. "Mm?"  
  
The thunder god hung his head then, closed his eyes, a hand rubbing through the firm stubble on his cheeks. "When I..." He coughed. "I could hear you calling me."  
  
Silvertongue's eyes widened. "What?"  
  
"It was dark," Thor said, voice quiet. "Darker than the deepest hollows of Niflheim, cold as the deadly night upon Jotunheim, and all I could hear... I did not think of Jane, Brother." He looked to Loki, who felt his jaw drop in utter disbelief. "As much as I love her, wished to hold onto her, I could not. It was not her I heard calling to me through that abyss."  
  
That's right. He had called for Thor, hadn't he? Fighting off the hands of his brother's friends, everything that tumbled about in the war that lay within, his body had commanded that he keep them all away. That his brother was his burden, his responsibility, alone. And there had been a voice, far below within the pit, whispering at first, then screaming, demanding that they both run, flee Midgard and find that once lovely peace that lay in the kingdom beyond. That they go home.   
  
 _"What have I done?"_  it had asked him.  _"What have I done?"_  
  
"You... You used to climb the curtains," Loki said suddenly, and looked at Thor. "Thought that, were you to get high enough off the ground, you could fly through the window. Circle the palace, prove yourself as king."  
  
The thunder god stared at him, mouth open slightly.   
  
"True story. Told me yourself as a boy." He sighed, stared up at the blank white expanse of sky. How quaint. "And, foolish as I was, I tried to follow you. I remember... we tore Mother's curtains down that day."  
  
Thor bellowed with laughter, tears appearing at the corners of his eyes. "I do remember that," he chortled. "Never had I seen Mother so displeased."  
  
Frigga had not shouted at them, he remembered, the way Odin would have. She had pulled them both from beneath the hefty fabric, speaking in firm tones as she had asked what business the two of them had to be climbing up to the ceilings like little monkeys. Thor had turned bright red, almost in tears as he explained his master plan in stutters while Loki stood in silence, knowing that defending himself would do little good. He had anticipated that they would be punished, and had refused to waste his breath. They had not been spanked or sent to sit in the corner, but told that their mother was greatly disappointed in the both of them. And, to Loki, that had been enough.   
  
Sitting in the snow, sore and tired and growing increasingly nostalgic, he remembered the decision he'd made that day as the servants had set about replacing those white beaded curtains. To never disappoint his mother again; never do anything that could hold even the potential to upset her so.   
  
Of course, as Loki had grown up, he'd broken that vow times far too numerous to count.  
  
Why, he'd done so much in only the past few years, that she was probably in tears as the thought flitted through his mind.  
  
"Will you concede then?" Thor asked then, an edge of hope in his voice. "When this is over, will you give this all up, come home with me, allow our family to be whole? Try again to live as we once did?"  
  
Silvertongue laughed softly and looked his brother in the eye with a smile.  
  
"I... will go home with you, Brother."  
  
Of course, he could not help but lie yet again.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
He was a coward, that much was certain. And, the more she thought of him, the faster she ran, the higher she jumped, the harder her blows became, wishing it were Loki and not these monsters she was fighting.   
  
Natasha scowled, spinning on the heel of her boot, planting knives and bullets into bodies, dropping to her knees and skidding through thick blood and snow, as though the ground beneath were a canvas for her scribbled art. The assassin did not know if it were possible, but the Frost Giants seemed to have grown taller in their rage, and who was to blame for that? The trickster god of course, now having slunk off into the fog and smoke, leaving the rest of them to fight and, quite possibly, die.   
  
She imagined that he'd left Thor for dead and slipped away to safety.   
  
But Natasha could not stay bitter, as much as she wished to. She hated him, to be sure, but the look on his face, which was usually that of a cocky and arrogant bastard, had disappeared in that moment, eyes appearing as though they were being jabbed from behind by needles. She'd said nothing of it, knowing something of pride herself. Of course, were Clint or the others to discover that she'd been shown compassion towards the enemy, they'd look at her as though she were a traitor.   
  
She heard screaming, a solid thud against the concrete, and turned, eyes wide as the Casket stared back at her, on its side and at the mercy of the snow. Raising an arm, Natasha unloaded a clip into the back of a giant that lumbered after Clint, launching herself off the ground and onto her stomach, sliding like an arrow towards the cube. Hands outstretched, she caught hold of the handles, curling in on herself as she neared the corner of a building. When the soles of her boots touched the brick, she pushed off again, sliding through the scuffle that went on with the chuckling Fandral and a giant who seemed to grow increasingly irritated as the warrior mocked it.   
  
Once she had slowed to a stop, Natasha shuddered, the cold slipping through the fabric of her suit, holding the Casket tight in her arms as Clint made eye contact, coming to stand in front of her with his bow drawn.   
  
"Cover me," she said, walking backwards, peering over her shoulder into the smoke.  
  
He didn't look back, but Natasha could hear the edge in his voice as he scoffed, brow creased and hawk's eye open and alert. "What the hell are you planning, Nat?"  
  
"Keep track of your score," she replied, dodging the question. Natasha knew that Clint wouldn't just let her run off. She'd have to bait him. "If you impress me, maybe, when this is all over, you'll get something good for your performance."  
  
The archer looked back at her for a split second, head swiveling back around as he launched a series of arrows into the mist, a satisfied smirk appearing on his face as several thuds rang through the air. He nodded, stepping back as if to usher her away.   
  
"You're on."  
  
Her lungs burned as she ran, chest heaving, ice slipping beneath her boots. Natasha didn't know what she'd been thinking when this idea had come about, what she had hoped to accomplish by stealing away the Frost Giant's Casket, running from them. Perhaps they'd forget the others, realize their treasure was missing and come after her, leaving her friends and allies to chase them down, kill them before they could find her, kill her, retrieve their power or whatever the hell this thing was.   
  
In her hands, it was cold, colder than the ice in the river, upon the lake; colder than the flat of one of her blades were it to be left in the freezer overnight. It was otherworldly, just like this whole bizarre sequence of events. Yet, the more the minutes passed, the more she dwelt on the things that had happened throughout the whole of her life, battling giants of ice in the heart of New York City wasn't quite so strange after all.   
  
Still, it was pretty high up on the list.  
  
The air buzzed, Natasha's hair flying back and out of her face as the smell of smoke began to follow her. He dropped out of the sky then, dinged and dented, covered in grime and blood. His eyes glowed that pale, luminescent blue as he touched down, the helmet opening up just enough for a puff of smoke to pop out from where Tony's mouth was. Natasha stared at him, raising an eyebrow at him as he began to hack, one hand reaching for the mask to pull it open, the other resting on his knee as he leaned over to spit on the concrete. The assassin scowled. Spitting was a filthy habit.   
  
When he finished, Tony straightened, the tip of his nose and his cheeks visibly red from the cold.   
  
"Still don't have the, uh..." He sniffled, muttering about his suit's heating, and Natasha said nothing. There was a sound, presumably some kind of alarm, that went off as Tony shut the mask again, perhaps to check the temperature of the suit. "Shit! I thought I'd standardized the damned...!"  
  
Natasha sighed, noting that the Casket was slowly becoming colder and heavier. She cleared her throat as loud as she could, and Tony swore, the hinges of the mask suddenly sticking to the helmet from the ice. Realizing that he'd have a better time of it, the assassin walked up to him and planted the cube in his arms. He struggled a moment, unsure of what it was and unable to see, before the suit kicked in and held it steady. The woman felt her cheeks glow with a light tint of envy.   
  
She reached up and snapped the mask shut for him.  
  
"Get this thing out of here," she said, glancing over her shoulder.  
  
"The hell is it?" Tony turned it over in his hands. "And why's it glowing?"  
  
Natasha groaned, stamping her foot in the snow. It crunched beneath her boot. "It doesn't matter!" The words came out angrier than she had intended. The assassin couldn't help it. Her nerves were shot after all this mess. Really, she just wanted all of this to end, to go home and get some damned sleep. "Just get it as far away from here as you can. I don't know what the hell it does, but it's the Frost Giants' Casket, and they want it."  
  
"It was a joke, honey. Don't sound so damned serious." As the blue eyes lit up again, Natasha was sure he was smirking at her from behind the mask. "So, you want it gone?"  
  
"Need, is more the word I'd use."  
  
"Destroyed?"  
  
"Hidden." Natasha swallowed. "Then, maybe, we can try bargaining with these bastards. They're a damned pain to kill."  
  
"Yeah, about that... From what I heard, they're not exactly the bargaining type. More like the 'violently-kill-everything-that-moves' sort." With the Casket held by a handle, he cocked his head and shrugged. "Not the kind of guys I'd want to have over for tea and biscuits. Know what I'm saying?"  
  
"Just get out of here," she replied, a half-smile forming on her face.   
  
And men had the nerve to say that women were chatterboxes.   
  
The Iron Man nodded, the soles of his metal feet glowing with flame as he hovered off the ground. A loud shriek shot through Natasha's ears as he rose quickly, snow scattering from the pressure of the air. There was a blank spot of concrete where Tony had stood, and the assassin looked up to see the trail of black smoke streaking across the sky.   
  
Hopefully, this would work.


	32. Blue

They hadn't remained together long following his words, as Thor had gone off on yet another famous tangent as to his intentions to rid the city of the Jotunns. Loki, while his brother had murmured on to himself, had slipped away, leaving Thor to take care of his end of their unspoken bargain. He could hear them crying as he went, children hidden away in the back seats of cars that sat in parking lots, parents hushing them, insisting that they remain quiet and say a little prayer to God. The whole thing made him roll his eyes, knowing better than they that the great Odin wasn't about to bless them with anything. The most he'd given to them amid the destruction were four warriors of Asgard, and even they, as Loki had seen firsthand, weren't quite a match for the Frost Giants of Jotunheim.   
  
It called to him, the voice low and far too warm for the weather, the gap opening as though a zipper had been yanked apart, the darkness with all its twinkling lights waiting to swallow him up. His hand slipped through, the rest of him following, promptly surprised to find that the temperature within the space of the tree was far more comforting than that of the mortal realm. The branches slithered along the expanse of unseen ground, catching Loki by the ankles and lifting him through the cosmos, the lights that followed looking very much like fireworks as he reached out to touch them. They burst then rippled like liquid, the sensation warm against his fingertips.   
  
If only, he thought, there were a way to remain here.  
  
He used to count the stars, he remembered, from the windows of his chambers, often wrapping the dark, warm curtains around his shoulders so as to fight away the cold. The left hand side of the balcony rail had been his perch, the wall a place for him to rest his head as he watched them shine, wishing to one day fly among them. When he'd found the gateway, it had opened within the pit of fire in one of the healing rooms, calling to him with a beautiful, sultry sound. The tree had known his name, had heard the wish made by an eager little boy high up in his room, had made everything, even magic, appear as little more than boring reality. Loki had spent many nights walking the pathways, taking a different route each time so as to attempt to find where all of the ancient constellations lay.   
  
By the time his father had explained to him and Thor how a king ought to rule and care and love, Loki had known them all by heart, had been able to find them no matter where in Asgard he opened the door.   
  
Now, they held no fascination for him.   
  
With the brilliant speed of the tree whisking him along, the door blurred before him in almost no time at all, the great black pit that was Jotunheim staring back through the torn edges of space. It was untouched Loki realized, his hand moving to usher the door away. It seemed to burst up and outward like a field of butterflies, quickly vanishing off and into the dark. The Jotunns had all but ignored the portal, going about their business, that to find and end him, with the aid of the Casket.   
  
Again he wanted to kick himself. He hadn't even thought to take it back from them.   
  
Loki paused a moment, hesitation filling him before he looked again to the tree and sighed, "To Asgard..."  
  
The silver lengths of the branches seemed to shift faster, slither around limbs and pull him through the darkness, the stars shooting past as though they were but rain. His head began to ache and Loki shut his eyes, feeling immediately sick. He had no business in Asgard, no reason to think that he ought return. But here he was, being dragged through the cosmos by Yggdrasil, its grip unwavering as though it had always meant for him to come here, had meant to take him home.  
  
Loki flew through the seam headfirst and heard it tear around him as the tree let go, opening his eyes in time to move his arms up to cover his head. He hit the concrete hard and rolled, finally falling flat on his back with an exasperated groan.   
  
Were he still small, Thor would have come running, screaming at the top of his lungs to all within earshot that his baby brother had gone and hurt himself again. Though, considering how absolutely wretched he felt, Loki wasn't sure he'd be too adverse to such a thing, and so he waited, curious to know if all of this had just been some horrendous dream. Loki thought he heard footsteps and opened his eyes, only to stare up into the deep night sky. Feeling rather defeated and foolish, the trickster could only sigh.   
  
"You came back."  
  
Loki sat up then, turning to look over his shoulder in shock as Frigga sat on the edge of the fountain, dressed in her nightclothes. He said nothing and stayed there on the ground, hunched over on the ground as though she'd come to punish him herself. After the things he'd said, the things she'd heard, her presence was torment enough. He heard her breathe and tensed, expecting the goddess to sweep across the ground and take him in her arms again, tell him how much she still loved him and what a good boy she knew he really was. The latter of which, they both knew to be a lie.   
  
Loki had never been a "good boy."  
  
She didn't come, he noticed; didn't make a move towards him, let alone encourage him to come to her.  
  
Loki grimaced. He hated knowing that he was a disappointment, that, regardless of his actions, she'd used to coddle him as though he needed her protection. And now that her embrace didn't come, he felt even worse.   
  
Though Odin certainly hadn't said so at the failed judgment, and Loki was sure he had wished to, it was evident that she expected penitence, the way she had when he and Thor had run about the palace throwing toys and ended up wrecking her favorite vase. Frigga had insisted they clean up the mess, and had been content to continue her watch over them until they had done so and apologized. Thor, he remembered, had cried until his eyes had turned red. Loki had refused to even look at his mother.  
  
Silvertongue he was, but Loki had never been particularly eloquent in offering apologies. In fact, he'd done his utmost to avoid them all together.   
  
But sitting here with her eyes occasionally upon him, there seemed to be but one option.   
  
Loki scowled, bit the inside of his cheek and stood, perfectly satisfied with keeping his gaze upon the ground as he trudged to the fountain wall and sat down, purposely leaving a space between them. Her eyes didn't follow him, just kept staring out into the distance as Loki leaned forward to wring his hands. Thor had always looked the fool when making apologies, dragging the toe of his boot across the floor, hands held awkwardly behind his back as he stammered. Loki had no intention of mimicking him.   
  
He sighed and cast a glance to the right, noting that her hand lay upon the space of stone between them. Loki's eyes closed, fingers curling into his palm as his arm moved, hesitant to allow his hand to cover hers.   
  
Finally, he let it fall, and flinched.  
  
Frigga didn't pull away, but made no move to return the gesture as Loki let his fingers slide between hers, into the warmth of her palm. He looked to her, trying not to appear hopeful, but she ignored him, continued to stare off into the dark mass of thick pine trees that sat about at the foot of the mountain.  
  
He'd really done it this time.   
  
Loki frowned, holding tightly to her hand as he leaned over, hesitantly left a kiss upon her cheek. She stirred then, but still refused to look at him. He raised a brow and sighed, giving her hand another squeeze before he stood, the heels of his boots echoing across the garden as the gateway opened again, wide enough for him to slip through.  
  
He looked back at her and choked. Frigga still wouldn't look his way.  
  
After this, Loki knew they wouldn't see each other again.  
  
And the sky began to storm.  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
It bothered her, those words, to know the truth that he had spoken, to know that, no matter how she tried, it was unlikely that she could share a life with Thor. He was a god, she kept reminding herself, the Son of Odin, a deity lost in time to myth. How in the world could she expect any of this to work?   
  
Jane would grow old long before him, die and be buried with the earth while he lived on. It would surely eat at her as the years went by, watching as he remained the same, while she feared something so trite as waking and looking at herself in the bathroom mirror. Thus far, it had worked, but only because she hadn't factored the most obvious of truths into the equation.   
  
Sitting there, on the edge of his bed, Jane could only bite her lip and shut her eyes, angry that she'd been so foolish, disgusted that she'd had to hear such truth from a creature so evil as his brother.   
  
Thor had asked her to wait here in Asgard, insisted that she could not return home until the onslaught of the Jotunn forces was ended. He had said that he would protect her, that he would not risk losing her so long as breath remained in his body. But Jane had not been afraid of death as she watched him ride away; had no care for her own life as she wished him to take her along. She had only thought of him, of the trouble he might attract, that he might not be the one who woke in the mornings left to follow. But she had known that telling him all of this would have been one more burden. He would have thought only of her in battle, leaving less focus to protecting the lives of their friends.   
  
Here, at least, Thor didn't have to worry about her.   
  
Jane sat by the fire as the sky grew dark, the length of her dress just as soft and inviting as the day he'd given it to her. Had she bought something like this back home, it would have become steadily worn out the more she'd washed it.   
  
The sky roared then, her head lifted to look out the window, half-expecting Thor to appear out of the wind and sweep her into his arms, tell her that everything was all right. But as she watched the lightning touch down in the distance, Jane knew that he wasn't through, that he wasn't coming back just yet. He was still fighting to protect her homeworld.   
  
She put her hands together and closed her eyes with a whisper, "Be safe."  
  


**# - # - # - #**

  
  
He roared, the end of a thunderbolt dropping into the head of the giant, its skull splitting in two as easily as an orange beneath a truck tire. It toppled on its feet a moment before falling forward, the head of his hammer moving to strike it square in the chest. The body flew back, taking down a cluster of the others as they soared through a solid brick wall. The red blocks splintered into chunks, scattered across the ground. Fandral swore as he stepped back and nearly slipped, stumbling and leaning backwards just enough to avoid a heavy blow to the head.  
  
Thor dashed forward and dropped to his knees, sliding in the snow and pushing Fandral back up with a hand so that the warrior's blade stuck through the giant's chest. Having regained balance, his friend laughed and carried on his own, drawing the sword out of flesh and moving on to strike again, stepping forward and advancing steadily. It all reminded Thor a lot of those swashbuckling pirate films he'd seen with Jane.   
  
Hearing a cry, he turned in time to see the Hulk toss a wailing giant at him. Thor raised the hammer, the impact sending a deafening crack through the air as bone broke, the Jotunn lying dead and bloodied upon the ground. He held tight to the hand grip, scowling as he raised it high, summoning the roaring thunder again. The area was lit up bright, the way it should have been in light of the oncoming holiday, and all eyes fell quickly upon the god, his gaze sweeping across the illuminated figures as the Iron Man dropped out of the dark sky.   
  
"This ends now. You will leave Midgard, and you will leave in peace," he said, daring the enemy to challenge him. The giants, even with their bodies broken and bloodied and limbs scattered across the ground, glared as though they would keep on despite his words. It would not surprise him. The Jotunns were an incredibly tenacious people. "If you do not..."  
  
Thor stopped, turning as Natasha came running, hands on her knees as she leaned over to heave. The air around her head looked dark and thick with smoke.   
  
"What happened?" he said, eyes brimming with worry.   
  
She coughed, looking up at him with red cheeks as she blinked. "It's gone, Thor..."  
  
The god frowned, offering her a confused look. "'It?'" he repeated. "What is gone, Natasha?"  
  
"Sparky." Thor turned to Tony, who stood shivering in his suit. "That magic box. The, er... Casket I think you all called it." The giants looked to him, several of them angry. "Yeah, see, she took off with it while all of you were..." He scrunched up his face and attempted to make monsters out of his hands. "Then, I, the hero thought it best to show up and save the day."  
  
Natasha scowled. " _Of course_."  
  
The Iron Man turned to the giants, who looked ready to jump him. "Oh, and I did forget one  _tiny_  little detail: I'm the only one who knows where it is." He smiled. "Yeah."   
  
Thor couldn't help smiling. His hand curled around the hammer as he gave Natasha a pat on the back. She growled.   
  
He raised Mjolnir high. "It is your choice."


	33. Just Let Them Die

Loki heard crying as the tree spit him back out upon Midgard, stumbling and skidding into a snowbank piled up on the sidewalk of a parking lot. He spat, swiping the powder away from his chin with the back of a hand, groaning loudly as the sobbing went on, serving as a further irritant to his already foul mood. Crawling to his knees, he turned, eyes narrowed as the source was found. A small car sat not twenty feet away, the windows rolled halfway down as the blue point of a knit cap stuck up, hovering over the reddening brow of a wide-eyed little boy. The child's eyes were wet as he struggled, the seat belt pinning him to the back of the seat as he fiddled with the door, the stuck lock clicking the more he fiddled with it.  
  
The trickster rolled his eyes as the child turned to look at him, crying louder and louder as Loki got to his feet. He swept across the parking lot with an obvious grimace, lifting his head a little higher so as to see into the vehicle. It was empty, save the boy and the frost that clung to the windows in the cold, and the child wailed again, trying to pull himself from the confines seat belt once more.  
  
With a hand resting on the rooftop of the car, Loki gave the boy a warning glare and put a finger to his lips. Reaching through the driver's side window, he toyed with the lock, but it would not budge. The God of Mischief growled and looked to the toddler again.  
  
"Cover your ears," he said, and the boy, still sniffling, complied, pulling the hat down over his eyes and pressing mittens against the sides of his head.  
  
Loki sneered and stepped back, giving the window a good kick with a boot. The glass cracked and finally splintered, falling into the car and across the boy's lap. He began to cry again as Loki leaned through the broken window with a dagger, reminding himself that it would not be wise to strike the child as he began sawing through the restraint. When it gave, he pulled the boy from the car, suddenly wondering what manner of parent would leave their child alone in the middle of an attack.  
  
Only mortals, he remembered.  
  
With the boy in his arms, Loki knelt down in the snow, attempting to pry the child away from his body as he kept on crying.  
  
"Let go," he finally said, trying to sound calm. "Go find your mother."  
  
The boy sobbed even harder, his little arms tightening around Loki's neck. "No!"  
  
Loki muttered to himself, easily acknowledging that he should have left the boy in the car to freeze to death. He was just a mortal, after all. They were fragile, unable to care for themselves without aid. They all deserved to die.  
  
"Mommy!"  
  
The god scowled and snorted, giving in and nudging the toddler with a hand until he had positioned himself firmly on Loki's back, his little red face buried in the ends of his dark hair. It only occurred to Loki then that, being a human child, he likely had all manner of food and, thanks to all this damned crying,  _snot_  all over his round little face. And it was only a matter of time before that sticky residue ended up stuck to everything. Himself included.  
  
He shut his eyes and made a face. Mortals were disgusting.  
  
Intent on ignoring that last disturbing thought, Loki remained silent and began trudging through the snow as the boy began to calm down, eventually coming to pepper him with all manner of questions which he did not bother to answer. The first of which began as something along the lines of the subway train, and how much he enjoyed riding it. That quickly became a tiresome tale of how Iron Man had saved him while on his way to meet up with his father and grandparents, and Loki soon realized that this obnoxious child had been the one who'd been so bright-eyed and bushy-tailed at seeing his dear brother's picture in the newspaper all those weeks ago. Of course, he had been rather impressed with the revelation of the god's blue skin, but, considering the boy wouldn't shut up and leave well enough alone, Loki decided that it was best to not bring that up again.  
  
"Where's Mommy?" the boy crooned, and Loki flinched, the child's voice far too loud and dispensed directly into his ear.  
  
He growled and swore under his breath at the sudden ringing sensation in his head. "I don't know."  
  
"I want Mommy!"  
  
"She isn't here. Now will you just..."  
  
"Mommy! Mommy! I want Mommy!"  
  
Loki scowled and stopped in his tracks, reaching around behind his head to grab the boy by the hood and deposit him on the ground. What in the hell had he been thinking, daring to bring a mortal child along with him out of pity? He was off to finish this mess, put the Jotunns in their place for defying him, and, if he so wished, ensure that his dear brother's warrior friends would not have limbs or tongues with which to return to Asgard. They were all foolish bastards, having the nerve to slap labels upon him the way they did. Whether or not they hit the mark. He'd have their heads, all of them. And maybe, if he didn't take off running in the next seven seconds, the boy's.  
  
The god waved a hand at the child, grinding his teeth until he was sure that his molars had been reduced to fine dust.  
  
"What are you waiting for, and invitation?" Loki sneered. "Go on. Get out of here. I already regret saving your pathetic little..."  
  
With a quivering lip, the boy stared up at him, face turning red all over again as his eyes filled with tears. Loki felt himself twitch and raised his hands.  
  
"No, no, no, no... No, don't start... Damn, don't you...!"  
  
The wailing cut through the air, the sound boring into the side of his head as the god slapped his hands over his ears. If nothing else, mortals were incredibly skilled at making noise, and lots of it. Though Aesir babies surely cried through the night, the offspring of humans seemed to have found a way to turn such a sound into a lethal, and increasingly irritating, weapon. Even if they didn't know how in the living hell to use it.  
  
Loki sighed, rubbing his forehead a moment before reaching for the child, hesitant to touch him again. After much deliberation, his hand rested on the boy's head as he knelt in the snow, swallowing the disgust that had lodged itself in his throat. He made a face. It had never been his fancy to visit with children as his mother had, to aid the nurses and rock them to sleep with sweet songs and promises of safety. In fact, he'd never dealt with infants and toddlers except when he had actually been one. And, at that point in time, the only truly irritating child he'd had to endure had been Thor.  
  
"Please," he said, feeling stupider by the second. "Please, don't... don't cry..." With red, puffy eyes, the boy pulled his hands from his face and stared. "I... I'll help you find your mother..."  
  
Immediately, the child made a face and grabbed the god by the arm, clinging to him as he shook.  
  
Loki frowned and lifted the boy onto his back again, giving him fair warning that, if he started pulling hair or biting, or doing anything that could serve to potentially set the god off, he'd be left behind to die. And, though the child probably didn't understand half of that, he had nodded all the same.  
  
He really shouldn't have bothered with the child in the first place, should have just left him alone to cry and gone about his business. Loki did have better things to do than babysit, after all. But listening to the child wail had done more than grate on his nerves. It was a bothersome thought, to acknowledge that there was something increasingly familiar about the boy.  
  
"Mommy's not coming back, is she?"  
  
"Why is that?" Not that he really cared.  
  
Loki felt the boy lean against his shoulder. "The monsters scared her away," he said, and sniffled.  
  
The statement just went to further prove his point that mortals were horrendous creatures. Every few years or so, they killed each other in droves, committed all manner of heinous crimes for the sake of money and possessions, abandoned one another, left them to die, and so on. They were ridiculous, and they deserved to be conquered. It was such a shame Loki hadn't thought to take Midgard before coming into contact with the Chitauri, hadn't come up with this entire scheme of his sooner.  
  
"She left you," he said, and scowled.  
  
Maybe that's why he'd picked up the boy, decided to burden himself with caring for a helpless child. The boy's mother likely hadn't given him a second thought as she ran, anymore than Frigga had given to him the night before.  
  
A chill came quickly along and the boy began to shiver. Loki scowled and turned, his back facing the side of a parking garage as he peered up at the rooftops, blood boiling. Of course they wouldn't have all gone after Thor and his friends. They'd have left some of their ranks behind to search the surrounding area for him, destroy and kill what they could until he'd come along like a rat in a trap.  
  
The boy whimpered, and the giants dropped out of the sky, swinging clubs into the ground as Loki stumbled back. He grit his teeth and snapped, the clones appearing in droves as he turned, looking for somewhere to hide the brat until this was all sorted out. The Jotunns took them down three and four at a time, slamming the duplicates into the ground and tearing off their limbs until they dissipated into dust. Loki swore and grabbed the boy, hurling him into a snow drift moments before a giant grabbed him from behind, slamming the god into the concrete.  
  
His head ached and the world spun as he looked up, staring into those glowing red eyes. The giant's lip curled, a heavy forearm thrust against his chest as Loki hacked, glaring back up at the beast with venom. Like so many others, he should have wiped the Jotunns out when he'd had the chance.  
  
The crack of lightning thrummed through his skull, the hammer dropping out of the sky and onto the giant's head as he rolled, not at all interested in having that damned thing on top of him again. Thor grabbed him by the arm, yanked him to his feet and gave him a slap on the back.  
  
"Are you all right?"  
  
The giants lay in the snow, streaked with blood and missing limbs, many of them with the backs of their skulls smashed in as the Avengers convened, stepping over bodies and staring at the boy. He had crawled out of the snow drift, shaking the powder from his clothes as Sif took to caring for him, and Loki leaned over, hands on his knees as he heaved.  
  
"You really ought to have killed them sooner," he said looking to his brother, and Thor laughed.


	34. The Seasons

The child, whose name they had learned was Daniel, had become rather taken with Natasha following the encounter with the giants, seeming to have decided for the moment that it was safest to stay as far as he could from Loki and cling to the woman's leg. Clearly, the assassin didn't appear too unhappy with such a turn of events, and looked very proud of the boy for determining who among their motley crew was dangerous. The child's little arms were wrapped around her neck as Tony dropped out of the sky with the Casket, offering it to Thor and making mention of the fact that he'd gone and hidden it among the construction equipment that surrounded Stark Tower. Loki, of course, rolled his eyes at the statement, wondering how in the hell he hadn't thought that the man would take it straight there.  
  
Overhead, the sky appeared calm, gentle white flakes dropping out of the clouds and giving Daniel reason to hop out of Natasha's arms and roll around in a ridiculous attempt to make snow angels.  
  
"I didn't kidnap him," Loki snapped, slapping Thor's hand away. "I am insulted that you would even consider such a thing. What would I have to do with a human child, anyway?"  
  
Thor seemed to consider this, a hand moving up to stroke his chin as he furrowed his brow. After a moment of deliberation he nodded, silently acknowledging the point that he should have recognized right off the bat. Sadly, Thor didn't think more than a few steps ahead. One of his many irritating traits. He looked to Loki and his eyes widened, a knowing smile breaking out across his broad face.  
  
"What?!"  
  
"You saved him, didn't you?"  
  
Loki made a face as Thor laughed, and shoved him. "Oh, shut up."  
  
His eyes widened as the boy trotted over to him, the assassin following at his heels in a manner that suddenly made him nervous. Women were so damned nosy. Daniel grabbed hold of Loki's sleeve and, hesitantly, the god dropped to his knees.  
  
"They found Mommy!" he proclaimed with a wide grin. Loki only nodded. "She's coming back for me!"  
  
The trickster scowled at that, but Daniel was utterly oblivious, throwing his tiny arms around the god's neck in a manner that made everyone turn and stare. Natasha's jaw dropped and Loki was positively appalled. Thor, naturally, smiled. The god grimaced, raising his hands as if to remove the boy, but pulled back at the last second, as though he were about to touch something filled to the brim with terrible disease. The boy stepped back, still smiling, and made an eager face.  
  
"Would ya do that thing again?" Loki stared. "The magic thing you did on the train?"  
  
The god stared unblinking at the child for a moment, and found himself sitting on the subway again, the wet newspaper in his hands. His brother's photo stared up at him, and the boy's hand slapped the page, shouting the thunder god's name with a wide smile on his small, round face. Loki hadn't liked that at all, and, so as to divert attention from Thor, had allowed the boy to see his Jotunn coloring. Loki hadn't once thought that he'd see the child again, and so the trick hadn't been for more than a laugh, a means with which to make the child forget all about the being what had overshadowed him. But now, with the boy hanging on him and begging to see it again, and what with the rest of them watching, Loki felt sick.  
  
The boy settled quietly into his lap and leaned on his arm, his tiny hands clinging to Loki's wrist as he sighed, wide eyes eventually closing as his body went limp with sleep. The god stiffened, staring at the child before turning to look at Thor.  
  
It was surprising to Loki, to see this tiny little creature settled so comfortably in his arms, as if the god's lap were the safest place in the Nine Realms. The child surely had no idea that he was one of the beasts that had tried to kill them both, and, somehow, the idea brought him a bit of peace. Staring at the boy's still face, the trickster had an epiphany, suddenly finding himself crawling across the floor of his mother's bedchamber, scrambling to the side of her gown, tiny hands reaching out as she swept him up and into her arms, cradling him against her breast with a smile upon her face. It was there, in the solace of her embrace, that Loki had always felt at ease, even when the world was crumbling around him. Perhaps that was why he'd deigned to save such a pitiful little creature. The boy had reminded him of himself as a child.   
  
Natasha laughed. "He likes you."  
  
A car horn went off and Loki turned his head, still holding the sleeping boy in his arms. A woman trudged through the snow as quickly as she could, her face red and eyes wet as she looked at him. There wasn't so much as a warning as the woman approached, grabbing Loki and pulling him against her shoulder.   
  
"You saved him," she whispered. The god said nothing, feeling incredibly awkward as the seconds passed. The boy's mother took him from the trickster's arms, pressing him against her chest with a force that startled him from sleep, causing his eyes to open and stare up into her face.   
  
"Mommy..."  
  
She quickly thanked him, leaving the god to sit in the snow with an increasingly confused look on his face.   
  
"What," he said, looking slowly to Natasha, "was that?"  
  
The assassin stared with a smile on her face, shaking her head. "That was hilarious."  
  
Shaking it off, the god got to his feet, brushing the snow off his clothes, breathing deeply as his Asgardian wear vanished, replaced by mortal dressings as he snorted.  
  
"Loki!" Thor grabbed him by the back of the coat, yanking him backwards through the snow. The prince spun him around, hands holding tight to Loki's shoulders as their eyes met, the thunder god giving him a solid shake. "What are you doing?"  
  
The God of Mischief sneered, giving his brother a disdainful look that heavily implied he was a bloody idiot. "What does it look like I'm doing?" he replied coolly. "I'm leaving.  _I'm done._ "  
  
Loki had never meant anything he'd said to his brother before, had never intended to return with Thor to Asgard. He hadn't even meant to go back and see his mother. There was nothing for him in Asgard, no reason for him to return save to face Odin's preaching and Frigga's disappointment. He'd never belonged there in the first place, didn't belong on Jotunheim, and couldn't stay on Midgard. Which made this decision of his all the more difficult. If he couldn't go home and he couldn't remain here, where in the Nine Realms would he go? Loki scowled as Thor shook him again, his head snapping forward and teeth nearly taking off the tip of his tongue.   
  
He began shouting, howling at Loki for being difficult, refusing to take responsibility and so on. It all made him smile. Thor had never been able to persuade him to do anything. Loki had always possessed his own agenda, his own reasons for doing things, though they were often unknown to his brother. But, naturally, the one thing Thor wouldn't call him was what he was: A liar.   
  
Thor bowed his head, one hand at the back of Loki's as he held tight. All this damned sentimentality, and it would get him nowhere.   
  
"You don't have to leave, Brother. You could..."  
  
Thor grew silent as Loki pulled away, eyes narrowing. To stay with his brother, with  _his_  friends would be to again follow at Thor's heels like a dog. He thought of Odin, of Frigga, of all the times they could have told him and didn't. For far too long had he been dragged along, following the path that they'd laid out for him, prompted him to follow. He'd been raised as a prince, expected to behave as such and hold all the good graces that came with royalty, even when the world threatened to crumble beneath his feet. Even were Odin to let pass his sleights, allow him to return as naught but the prodigal son, Loki couldn't subject himself to that torment again; pretend to be something he wasn't.   
  
Silvertongue shook his head, stepped away from Thor and stared at the ground.   
  
"Do you really think that, because you beg, I'll stay?"  
  
Thor had always pestered him, always cried and begged him to come along, to play his games, to join him in the hunt. What he'd never understood was that Loki had never once conceded to his desires; had always gone along with the plan because it was what he wanted, because he'd hoped that, were he to follow him long enough, Thor would come to acknowledge him as an equal. But he'd always been little more than an extra wheel, a lackey. If only Thor had realized sooner the things that he knew now.   
  
His brother watched with pleading eyes, a knowing gleam in the sea of blue as he acknowledged that, this time, Loki wouldn't be giving in. So far as the trickster was concerned, they'd been together far too long.   
  
A sigh slipped through his nose as Thor raised a hand, making a face and tugging Loki to him. Silvertongue had never seen the point in such a gesture, in handling others and forcing embrace upon them. But he stood quietly, waited for the sentiment to die out, knowing it would be far easier than trying to escape his brother's iron grip.   
  
When Thor let go, he frowned, biting his tongue and swallowing. "You are going back to Asgard?"  
  
Thor nodded.  
  
Loki fidgeted, kicking up snow. "Would you tell Mother that I'm..."  
  
He flinched, a hand stretched out and in his face. The thunder god smiled. "I know," he said. "I will. You need say no more, Brother."  
  
If there was one regret Loki held, it was that he hadn't told her himself; hadn't given her the one thing she'd never asked for. He only hoped she'd forgive him for it.   
  
The Warriors Three and the Lady Sif stood behind him as he turned, Volstagg looking rather mournful, if not hungry, while the others held themselves in check. He passed them by, stopping beside the warrior woman and offering her a smile. She frowned.   
  
"Try not to miss me," he laughed, fingers straying to her cheek. "We can't have you soiling your bedding with tears, now can we?"  
  
Sif gave him a shove. "Be silent."  
  
"Oh, I've heard that before, Lady Sif. We both know that, no matter how many times you say it, a charmer's tongue is never stilled."  
  
It didn't matter now that she still hated him, that she had always loved Thor, had enjoyed nothing more than making him cry as a child. It was unlikely that they'd be seeing one another again.  
  
For the most part, he ignored the Avengers, knowing full and well that they weren't particularly happy with the way things had turned out, with the fact that Thor was just letting him go. They wanted him in chains, kept in a cage like some lab animal, tormented and made to pay for his crimes against their precious humanity. He'd seen it in their eyes, that they wanted to break him, rub in his face their belief that mortals could best even the God of Mischief. Loki, however, had simply dismissed it as little more than childish fantasies. No mortal could force him to his knees.   
  
The assassin stepped in his path, glowering at him with a ferocity that spoke volumes. He suspected that, more than any of them, she held the biggest grudge.   
  
"Oh, you're not still upset about  _that_ , are you?" he chided, watching Central Park play over in her head.   
  
Natasha looked away for a moment before raising a hand and striking him across the face, her lips curving up in a solid smile.   
  
"What on earth would make you think I'm still upset?" she replied without a hitch.   
  
Loki rolled his eyes up in thought. "I've lost count now," he said. "I can't quite recall if that's five or six..."  
  
Natasha grabbed him then, scowling much like she had when she'd dragged him out of the music store, slammed him into the side of that disgusting dumpster. "I would hope that you at least remember the promise I made to you."  
  
"How could I forget, Agent Romanoff?" Loki's tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth, and he grinned slyly. "You have sworn, and on your very life no less, that you will kill me, whatever manner of creature I may be."  
  
She flinched, his hand curling around her wrist, prying the knife from her fingers. "Shit..."  
  
"Does the  _lady_  expect an apology?"  
  
The god stepped away, satisfied by her obvious rage and the hateful expression that Barton had sent his way as he fingered his bow. He said not one word more, turning on his heel and starting off through the snow, suddenly preoccupied with a way to make footprints appear in front of himself without having to walk backwards. The gentle tension of the bowstring thrummed past Loki's ear, and he bent over just as the arrow went whizzing past, not bothering to look back and rub it in.   
  
The head of Thor's hammer hit the concrete, his boots crunching the snow behind Loki as he stood. The trickster could hear the nervous beating of his brother's heart in his breath as he shouted.   
  
"You will come back!" It was not a question. "Loki! Tell me you will come home!"  
  
Cool breath filled his lungs, his nearly colorless eyes sent skyward as the snow kicked up around him. The two of them had always circled one another, like the cycles of the seasons, of the sun and the moon, of life and death. One rising where the other fell, each struggling for dominance in the worlds. Such had been the nature of their relationship from the beginning, and as such it would remain. The God of Mischief couldn't quite say that he knew they'd be separate as of yet.   
  
"We'll see," he said to himself. "But who can say?"


End file.
